Harry Potter and the Duties of the King
by Shadenight123
Summary: Sequel to TCOTK. Dumbledore is dead, the Horcrux's might is shattered, time has righted itself and the Ministry is splintered. Duke of England and King of Hogwarts, Harry Potter faces the truths of power as he battles against himself to avoid becoming what he has defeated. Outside enemies prepare their forces and ready themselves...as Atlantis' shadows loom over them all.
1. The Start of a New Year

Harry Potter and the Wrath of the Elder Gods

"_Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are."_

_-Niccolò Machiavelli, 'The Prince'._

Johnatan Gladsgow was sixteen and, apparently since this summer, a wizard. He could have been a wizard since the age of eleven, but the 'wizard post office' had apparently lost his letter. He supposed he'd have to make do with the summer courses to recuperate on the lost time. He had expected to receive a wand or some sort of nifty rituals, but the entire month went by in the Scottish castle of Hogwarts with teachers explaining to them the importance of magic. How they were not supposed to play with it and how they should act on it responsibly were constantly drilled in their heads, because while magic could cause problems and solve them...some were far more difficult to solve than others.

He arrived with a 'portkey' to his destination, and as other older students escorted him with the rest of the students his age, older or slightly younger, down a set of narrow stairs towards the dining hall, he admired the rich tapestry that now adorned the wall towards the hall. He hadn't seen that during the summer. Then again, considering what the history of the place was…

Who would have thought that a boy the same age of his younger brother could hold such power? It sounded like a fairy tale or one of those comics about superheroes, yet it was unquestionably reality. Furthermore, there had even been a rebellion from what the teachers had said…and this boy, this thirteen or fourteen year old…had _drowned it in blood_.

Before, the wizards considered magic a childish fantasy and taught their children accordingly, the government hoarding to themselves the knowledge of the most powerful spells. Spells that could literally manslaughter armies called 'Dark' or 'Illegal' hidden from the world…just like Nukes. It was no surprise a child could rule: knowledge was power after all, and as long as one had power…then wasn't one meant to rule to begin with?

By coming from above, they ended up headed towards the tables in the upper balconies, which granted them a closer view of the ceiling that resembled the night-sky and made them watch from above the proceedings below.

He sat next to a dark skinned girl of thirteen and a tattooed and muscle-bound man of at least thirty-one. The girl's eyes were dark, just like at the same time her black hair descended in a set of braids all the way to half her shoulder length. The man on the other hand looked like a biker, one of those you usually see rolling on Harley Davidson in the movies. He looked sort-of funny in his robes, with the fabric rolled up to show his biceps.

He had grey eyes, cold and uncaring as they settled on him for a moment. Johnatan swallowed nervously, as suddenly all noises died out.

The 'First Years' entered the hall guided by the _Praetorians_, who had the _Knight_ Granger at the head of the formation. His eyes then moved to the other side of the giant dining hall, where the so dubbed 'King' of Hogwarts stood seated at the middle of a table, with the teachers' staff to his sides.

The numbers of teachers easily reached the eighties.

Personally, he liked Madam Bauxdoinne —she was a…Quarter-Veela or something like that— since she taught them how to act in the wizard society, their tests always consisted of eating or drinking stuff properly, and on how to address one another. Wizard society had lords just like old England after all…they apparently had a King rather than a Queen, and a Ministry rather than the Prime Minister.

"Welcome," the King of Hogwarts spoke rising from his spot at the table, the giant wall of grey that stood behind him shifting ever so slightly, "Yes, behind me there is a giant snake," the King remarked calmly. "Do not be scared by the snake."

Johnatan snorted. There were low chuckles and giggles going around the hall as a few first years recoiled anyway. "Her name is Heather," the King continued softly, yet his voice carried on throughout the hall all the same. "And she is a Basilisk…she is a nice Basilisk, and won't eat you. Do avoid putting your arms in her mouth however: her fangs are poisonous…_extremely_ poisonous."

The King brought up his right hand. "And before someone asks why there is an extremely poisonous snake, which is also as tall as a building inside a school…it's because it's an _intelligent_ snake. She speaks…her language, and she knows who to eat and who not to eat. And most of the time, she can be found hanging around the Forbidden Forest…and plus, well," the King moved his right hand in two calm spins, as if gesturing for the snake to do something.

Johnatan smiled. He remembered that happening also the last time.

The Basilisk's head came into view then and with it the two _giant_ and _pink_ earmuffs. Now a few of the first years actually chuckled at that display.

"She is, I repeat, not a danger to you as long as you keep a respectful distance," it was then that the boy coughed slightly, and gave a nod to the snake who playfully winked at the first years.

"That said, there are a few laws to follow in order to ensure you will have a fulfilling time at Hogwarts devoid of risks. The first thing, the most important thing you must understand is that _magic is not a game_. I will not tolerate magical forms of bullying, and if anyone at all will be found using magic for a silly and petty reason like bullying…I will have you _expelled_." He gestured with his open hand to professor Snape, the one who could make your soul shiver by simply looking at you —and Johnatan knew all about the man, since he was the one who taught potions. "Professor Snape, illustrate a common example of bullying with magic and the consequences…"

"Ah," the man looked like a kid given the permission to raze a candy store. "Where should I begin? The curses that remove your hair, the nerve-wracking pains and pustules that can spread through parts of your body unmentioned? There are spells seemingly innocuous like Aguamenti that can result in interesting experiments when conjoined with Wingardium Leviosa, namely the fall of three tons of water above unsuspecting…"

The professor of Potions spoke thus for at least fifteen minutes, growing more and more heated as he kept on delving on possible types of pranks and their after-effects, speaking of the pain of traumas and phobias that were developed. He spoke with a hard tone and a clearly cut intention of making it extremely certain that bullying was not a _nice_ thing.

"Professor," the King spoke then with a slightly raised eyebrow. "It's enough for now."

"Very well," Severus coughed, before slowly sitting back down.

"The second law, the clearest of them all is also one of the simplest to boot: treat everyone as you wish to be treated, and do not judge a book by its cover. Talks of blood purity are what brought Wizardry Britain to its knees once already, and I will not tolerate any form of racism, be it genealogical, ideological, and theological or of any other form. The third law is once more simple to follow: if you're having troubles, be it with fellow students or a professor, you can come and talk either to myself or the Representative of the Queen, mister Gordsworth, who is currently at my left."

Johnatan looked towards the portly man with a trimmed moustache and a pair of small circular eyeglasses. He was wearing robes, probably to 'fit in' as he was a 'muggle'.

"Finally, if someone wants the full charter of laws of Hogwarts, he or she may freely peruse it in Mister Filch's office. He is also _one_ of the caretakers of Hogwarts, just like the House Elves currently preparing the meal for us as we speak. If anyone has dietary needs of sort…speak to your plate. No, I am being serious, no need to look at me with those wide eyes," the King was amiable enough that even the most stressed out of the first years had started to relax…and sort of start jumping from one leg to the other in wait for the introduction to be over.

"Your voice will carry on to the kitchen, and the elves will remember the next time around."

There was a moment of silence, before the King finally nodded to himself and said, "Very well…I hereby bid you welcome into the halls of Hogwarts, school of wizardry and witchcraft! I am Duke Harry James Salazar Gryffindor Ravenclaw Hufflepuff Potter Wyllt and a plethora of surnames I cannot remember. I am the Headmaster of the school, whose title is 'King' since last year, and the ruler of half of magical England, as recognized by the Queen's own edict. While I may be young, I am also fair. Knight Granger? Proceed."

Johnatan watched as the raven haired Knight strolled forward, placing the first years in the free spots left in the middle of the various tables. In order to avoid also a class separation, second through seventh year randomly sat along the tables. Granger nudged the first years between third, fifth, or seventh, in order to ensure whatever fears they had was squashed by the mere presence of others older than them.

It also helped that the majority of the students remaining were either muggleborns or half-bloods.

Knight Granger then slowly walked her way towards a table where another Knight, blonde-haired, had kept her a seat.

The King still stood, as if in wait. The doors of the hall opened once more, this time to admit a hefty group of black leather-dressed students. A ghost, one that resembled some sort of old Nordic warrior, guided them. "Oleg!" the Headmaster of Hogwarts exclaimed, before delving into a speech in another tongue.

The leather-coat students seemed unperturbed as the boy delivered to them the same speech as he did to the Hogwarts ones —at least, that was what Johnatan had understood about it. There were a few murmurs in the crowd of students already seated, pointing at a particular student among the crowd. He heard a name being said 'Viktor' and something about him being a 'seeker' or similar.

The leather-dressed students sat between the remaining spaces, so that they forcefully were in the middle of Hogwarts students.

Finally, the King sat down at last at his seat and exclaimed.

"Let the feast begin!" with a thunderous clap, suddenly the tables filled with food. He watched with a surprised look the biker to his side eating boiled vegetables, while he himself began to pilfer at his meat.

"Once they divided the students in houses," the dark skinned girl to his side suddenly said. "It was the Founders' tradition to do so." She made a grin. "There was a veritable mess with the cup at the end of the year once, everyone screaming 'the cup to the scum'…and from there on the process was abolished. This is the first year Hogwarts goes without houses," she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And the first year we have Durmstrang students as Hogwarts ones."

"Uh?" Johnatan grunted. "What's Durmstrang?"

"Oh," the girl seemed delighted he had actually asked. "That's the school that was in the north, near Russia or somewhere like that," she said. "It was a floating iceberg fortress, but some say that it's a ship now."

"And why are they here now?"

"You didn't look at the tapestry much, did you?" there was a condescending tone in the girl that naturally made Johnatan slightly bitter. So what if he hadn't 'admired' the thing? He had looked at it, but then again how could people expect to believe half of what they said about the boy?

"Somehow, the King battled the headmaster of Durmstrang because he was doing blood rituals…he defeated him and acquired the rights of the school through battle, as was the old Viking tradition."

"So…that boy over there managed to defeat an old and powerful wizard alone?"

"You are seeing the scars like I am, right? Have you seen his hands?"

"So he's a murderer," Johnatan replied softly. "Isn't that it, in the end?"

The dark skinned girl gave him an annoyed look. "Well, I'd like to see _you_ trying to stop a blood ritual without killing someone."

"But weren't there Bobbies or something like that?"

"Sometimes you don't have the time to call for the police," the thirty-something years old biker said suddenly, his voice low and growling, "And when you don't have the time you can either act or let the bastards get away with it."

Johnatan said nothing more; lowering his gaze to the table's surface, he started to eat quietly from that moment forth.

_Harry_

The light chatter of the dining hall soon filled the hall, as people began to talk and ease up one with the other. Sure, there were still some tensions here and there, but for the most part the assembled student body was subdued and happy.

Everything was going to be fine. The school year would pass by in a breeze, and soon the Triwizard tournament would start. He carefully nudged Sophie out from his lap, where the phoenix had taken to sleeping like some sort of cat when she was tired, and watched with a slight smirk as the bird eyed him and scowled. A squawk later and she flapped her powerful red wings away, making a circle around the ceiling and washing in a shower of golden sparks the room, eliciting the awed remarks of the students.

The dining feast done, Harry stood up with a calm smooth motion, gesturing towards both Draco and Hermione. "Escort the students to their respective dormitories, depending on the class curriculum they have to partake in. Sleep well, for lessons begin tomorrow morning."

With a final wave of the hand, he saluted _his_ students and left for the Headmaster's office.

The room had letters everywhere. Ledgers that were half-filled and with their body open were everywhere, as thousands of documents of various natures floated around like headless chickens. A metallic archive flew overhead, collecting a stack of completed work.

Harry sighed as he sat down at the desk, letting the quill come to his hand as he tinged the tip of it in the inkpot, before beginning to write on yet one more document concerning provisions.

The magical state of Uganda wanted to send some of its wizards to study in Great Britain, just like the Albania consulate had a request for more spots to open for their transfer students —apparently the ones in Italy had closed, something about a political movement refuting to allow wizard foreigners in having risen to power.

There was some sort of movement going on, which had its roots in the Greek Supremacist one —which thanks to the economic crisis had actually gained control. Nothing like being on a hungry stomach united people more…and nothing like a common enemy made them all stand together.

Harry would be pulling another all-nighter —he just knew it. "Twinky? Tea please," he asked then to the empty air, only for a house elf to appear a moment later with a tray which held biscuits and a _mug_ filled to the brim.

He would have drunk coffee, if only he could stand its bitterness. As it was, the mug of tea would hold him awake at least until midnight or beyond —he had some documents that needed his approval before the end of the week. There were treaties to discuss with the centaurs, which had to be done only on specific nights beneath specific stars, and the Kraken in the lake actually wanted a blond wig —for some reason Harry had no idea why and actually didn't want to know the reason for.

The Acromantulas that remained in the forest following their 'excursion' into the school grounds asked to be spared and offered their silks as payment for using the forest to hunt, and that was an offer he had taken them on with.

The fact he had Heather coiled behind his shoulders while negotiating meant nothing of course —even though they had been extremely generous with their offers after seeing his scaly Death-Glaring friend.

He grumbled as a stack of paper soon flew from his desk to the archive once more, leaving him with a new blank pile to start with. He couldn't just sign the papers: he _had_ to read them. This wasn't even half of it: the rest was at Gringotts, where his own personal retinue of goblins —paid most handsomely— worked non-stop to keep his finances in check and began investing.

Sophie cawed from her perch, flapping her wings and playfully trying to convince Machiavelli to do something different from sleeping. His owl was apparently a chicken when it came to the night. He supposed that was the prize to pay for Hybrids…

He tapped with his fingers on his desk, his eyes drooping ever so slightly because of fatigue. How long was he supposed to work still for that night?

He needed an accountant, but unfortunately, the Wizard world did not understand the terms 'signature by proxy'…or maybe it understood them too well, and the possible abuse that could come from it.

Shaking his head to try and clear his thoughts, he signed one last paper which made an order to the local Hogsmeade village for wool cloaks to use during the winter that were to be stashed in the supply rooms.

Then, promptly, he fell asleep on the desk too tired to move a finger.

_Lillian Potter_

Lavender Brown and the Patil twins shared the room with her. The ex-Gryffindors looked at ease, while the ex-Ravenclaw was slightly worried —probably because ex-lions surrounded her.

There was a small knocking sound from the door, just as she was about to turn in for the night. She frowned, before slowly walking towards the source of the noise and opening the door slightly. The raven haired Hermione stood on the other side, still wearing her Knight uniform. Her hazel eyes seemed to shine slightly, as she held a sweet smile on her face.

"Lillian? I didn't wake you up, did I? Can we talk for a bit?"

Lillian nodded back, a small curious expression on her face. What was there to talk about this late at night? She hastily put on a sweater, before slipping her feet in her slippers and heading outside, slowly closing the door behind as to not wake her roommates.

Hermione gestured for her to follow, and as she did, they descended the stairs that went from the female rooms all the way down to the common room of the tower. Hermione smiled sweetly as they reached the end of the stairs, before suddenly slamming a fist into Lillian's guts and sending the girl sprawling on the ground.

Lillian would have screamed, if the pain added with the speed with which Hermione pushed a hand against her mouth hadn't prevented that. The girl's eyes widened in fear when she felt the wooden tip of Hermione's wand pressed against her neck, feeling cold and uncaring against her skin.

"Now listen well, _brat_," Hermione hissed out with venom positively dropping from her voice. "I don't know what treacherous words or _bullshit_ you fed Harry, but this stops _now_. He _believes_ in you? That's rich, isn't it?" her eyes didn't look shiny anymore…they looked scary and positively murderous. "You are supposed to be what, his moral compass? Don't make me _laugh_." She moved her face closer to hers, so much that Lillian could feel Hermione's hot breath wash over her face.

"If Harry needs someone, then that someone is _me_. He doesn't need a stupid brat who opposed him and who _didn't even move a finger to save her friend when she was taken to Azkaban_." Lillian's heart was beating erratically, as the firm grip of Hermione on her mouth seemed to increase.

"You are a _child_," Hermione whispered. "And you, you…you are supposed to be the one Harry should listen to? What did you do to him, uh? Well? What did you do to him? What did you tell him? Did you cry with your fake crocodile tears maybe? Did you blackmail him? What did you do to make him believe you are worthy of even _speaking_ in his presence?" Hermione's voice was low and malicious; it dripped not only with venom, but also with hatred so pure Lillian could bottle it up.

And she…she had been seeing a mind-healer!?

"The King is always right," Hermione murmured. "He is _never_ wrong. He could rule Great Britain within _seconds_, and you…you can't even _kill_ someone. What's the best _you_ can do? Flipendo?" the raven-haired girl snorted as she let the tip of her wand slowly move down Lillian's neck. "I spent my summer reading about curses, about…_magic_ both light and 'dark'. And you know what?" she cooed whispering at the girl's ear. "There is no difference between a 'light' torture and a 'dark' one…if not the name," she chuckled then.

"Maybe…If I use _Crucio_ you will tell me?"

Lillian's eyes widened in fear, as she tried to speak through the hand that pressed her mouth shut to no avail. "No?" Hermione pouted. "You won't?"

She had done nothing! Harry had come to her, it hadn't been the opposite!

"You know what?" Hermione smiled suddenly. "Maybe it's because…I'm using the _wrong_ threat," she whispered. "I know!" Lillian's eyes widened as she felt a strong hit to her stomach, which nearly made her throw up as Hermione had kneed her in the guts. "I think I will give you _one week_ and…if you haven't stopped _talking_ to Harry by then…" she slowly brought up her right hand, "_I will kill your parents_."

Hermione whispered a spell then, something Lillian couldn't catch…and the next moment, she was asleep.

She was asleep…and dreaming of nightmares.

_Lord Voldemort_

The Felix Felicis true might was undervalued. One sip, one clear intention, and the world bowed to your will. You took a sip and then you thought about ruling a country and just so casually a rebellion would sprout, using the undercurrent of malcontent that always existed where there was a _minority_.

The sad thing was that he had risen to power in England in the same way.

A sip of golden luck, the right intention…and magic did the rest.

People were stupid, but wizards were _stupider_. There was a distinctive _difference_ between what the law said you could not do and what you really could not do, and he had abused that difference for all of its worth.

Peter Pettigrew's pathetic last stand had been a thorn, but not one difficult to remove. The man had brought slander to him, but not proofs —if he had, then it would have ended up with far more dead among his own retinue…killed by him. He had to monologue his mother's side of the family, before adding in the Black family line by using a castoff that he knew Walburga had missed to remove from her tapestry and that had simply 'gone missing'.

Walburga had a fire in her veins when she still lived…she was actually one of the few witches he actually respected —especially for her intensive knowledge of curses.

"Has the last shipment arrived on schedule?" he asked calmly to _Coryphaeus_, as the noble wizard wanted himself called.

"Yes, my noble Emperor," Coryphaeus replied. He was a stalwart man, with dark hair and bright shining blue eyes. He had been a soldier before answering the call to serve his country's _true_ and _pure_ interests, and because of that, he was also one of the few persons Voldemort valued…short of being loyal, at least he was _effective_.

"Very well," Voldemort said. "How are the…_women_, faring?"

"They are well," Coryphaeus replied. "The old traditions did not unsettle them much."

"I hoped so," he sneered. "What about the Italians?"

"They are surprisingly receptive to our influence," Coryphaeus answered. "We are having troubles with the Universitatis…their headmistress is—"

"Do not worry about her," Voldemort snapped back. "She is nothing more than an old crone, mentally instable and already showing sign of _Death_ creeping over her."

"I understand my Emperor," the soldier —he was garbed in a military uniform— walked with purpose towards a long marble and gold table, upon which a map showed tiny black dots moving around —all depicting where the Death Eaters were in the world.

"Your Highness?" Coryphaeus exhaled slowly. "The Berlin Death Eaters are no longer on the map."

Voldemort did not frown. He simply stood from his throne and walked quietly forward, towards the map. With delicate fingers, he gently touched the closest of the black points on the map and whispered. "_Morsmordre_!"

Soon, he felt his mind connect with that of the Death Eater in question —a young man in his twenty-two— and with that came the possibility for him to speak directly into the youth's brains, and to impart orders… "Go to Berlin, my faithful servant. Find what happened there to the Death Eaters assigned…and do not betray my expectations!"

"It will be done, my Lord."

Voldemort sneered as he cut off the communication. The young man had probably not yet received the information of what his new title was supposed to be.

He would, and then he would pay for his affront with a pain curse.

Voldemort moved out of the throne room he had fashioned for himself, followed by Coryphaeus who seemed unperturbed by the sudden desire to move of his Emperor.

"Tell me, Coryphaeus," Voldemort remarked. "Why do wizard not rule the world?"

"Because we are few," the man replied. "And because we are divided."

"Indeed," the Dark Emperor replied. "But what else? Do you know of the myth of Atlantis?"

"Yes, my Emperor," the soldier said. "They tried to gift their magic onto everyone, the muggles and the squibs…and they failed and were punished by the gods for it."

"I wonder," the Dark Lord smirked. "What makes you so certain Gods exist? The cave dwellers who drew on the dirt knew nothing of gods, yet they lived and died without remorse. No, Coryphaeus, do not fall prey to the will of the weak-willed: it was not the gods who destroyed Atlantis…but the Atlantean themselves. They experimented with magic beyond their comprehension. They tried to gift magic, but in order to do so…they had to _understand_ it."

The Dark Lord's robe billowed in the wind as the man brought his hands to rest on a marble rail of a balcony that overlooked the entire city of Athens. "Look at them, going about their daily lives without magic. They know not what power is, what right or wrong is, they are ignorant fools and yet they outnumber us, they _outsmart_ us! You were a soldier, a mercenary, you know of this: why? Why could humans who are so frails and pathetic become stronger as a whole than us, who wield magic? We could bring down the moon upon their heads, should we wish for it! Yet…yet they could tear apart this world with the push of a button." Voldemort's breath stilled as his eyes narrowed on the population.

"They are a sin upon the Earth," Voldemort finally whispered. "They must be used as a mean to an end, and nothing more," he finally said. "Coryphaeus, my loyal soldier…What I require of you, will you do it?"

"As my Emperor commands, so I will do," Coryphaeus answered as he kneeled in front of Voldemort, his head low.

"I need you to go somewhere, to check on something for me," Voldemort whispered. "To Godric's Hollow, in West Country…in England."

"My Emperor?"

"There you will find a grave," the Dark Lord remarked. "Tell the grave 'Among the lies, grant me the truth hidden by the wicked prophecies'. It will open a path and…at the end, there will be something that you must bring back to me…if there is nothing, then…then you must tread carefully as you return."

"My Emperor…your will is my command."

"Go then, Coryphaeus," Voldemort said briskly. "Go and do not fail me!"

There was a light pop, and then the man was long gone.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, known as the Dark Emperor Voldemort, exhaled slowly as his eyes settled upon the bustling city of muggles.

"Soon," he murmured. "Soon your _blight_ will end."

_Gellert Grindelwald_

"And everything is in place! I kept in check with all the contacts Mister Grindelwald, and the Nargles as well as the Crumple Horned Snorkacks are ready to—"

"Xenophilius," Gellert sighed as he rolled his eyes. "I understand you have done a good job, _kind_," his voice was rough as he took a sip of the tea the man offered him.

"Of course Mister Grindelwald," Xenophilius smiled. "Might I now ask for—"

"Indeed," Gellert nodded calmly. "I have the Elder Wand in my possession, once more…and the location of the remaining Hallows has been uncovered."

"Excellent!" Xenophilius' exclamation made Gellert wince slightly, while the blond-haired man furiously clapped and jumped around the room. "Your funds in Switzerland are safe, Mister Grindelwald…and with your permission, I will call forth your loyal men! We can finally grasp the Hallows, and bring forth the end of Death!"

The director of the Quibbler was ecstatic. "Oh, my little Luna will finally see her mother again!"

"So you have all the contacts in here, _kind_?" he asked once more, looking at the thick stack of papers in front of him. He had to admit that faking creatures just to hide weapon caches around the world and setting up rings of loyal soldiers…and calling them 'Nargles' to let people roll their eyes and let him go unpunished nearly everywhere…

Nobody ever cared for the lunatics' actions…until they came crumbling down against the sane.

"Ah, yes! Everything! My wife used to say I was a disaster, but this was important so I took a page from her book and kept everything in order! M…Maybe I should do something about Luna…" he murmured. "Yeah, she's going to be so surprised!"

"Indeed," Gellert nodded as he stood up, taking his wand out. "She is going to be…extremely surprised."

"Mister Grindelwald?"

"You have done well, _kind_. But now…now I am no longer in need of your services," he narrowed his eyes. "And a madman left to his own devises is too dangerous to let go free."

"Uh? But you _swore_! You made a magical oath!"

"Indeed I have! So rejoice… for you will _reunite_ with your wife as I promised!" and then Gellert pointed his wand at Xenophilius, letting it move as if it was a sword.

Blood drenched the carpet and the wall behind the man, as the corpse of Xenophilius Lovegood fell on the ground with a dull thud.

"I am back," Gellert whispered, "And this time around…_no treachery will take away what is rightfully mine_."

And with those words pronounced, Gellert Grindelwald began to grab all the documents that remained on the desk. He had much to do.

He had a Reichstag to rebuild, after all.

**Author's notes**

**And we begin once more.**

**Yandere-Hermione is such a cute girl, isn't she?**


	2. The Sacrifice of Power

Harry Potter and the Wrath of the Elder Gods

Chapter Two

"_It must be considered that there is nothing more difficult to carry out, nor more doubtful of success, nor more dangerous to handle, than to initiate a new order of things."_

_-Niccolò Machiavelli, 'The Prince'._

The Wizengamot had never been more productive. Truly the problem was with the fact that for once in centuries, their very own laws had worked against them and had finally been found wanting. Wizardry society had lived with traditions centuries old and with those traditions, it had flourished. Now they had been decided lacking, and new ones had to come to the fore.

The problem was that there were none among the suggestions offered that actually made sense. They couldn't just bypass the treaties with the goblins —not without starting a war— and they couldn't use the treaties to their advantage unless they claimed the old traditions that bind the goblin to the old treaties.

Of course, the nasty buggers had known about that.

Wizardry Britain had, in the end, two choices: go to war with the Goblins and change into something new, or remain in their old ways and find their very life choked out of their body, as whatever they had crumbled beneath the strain of sustaining people who were no longer sustainable.

He'd have to lay off half of the ministry employee, because the simple truth of the matter was that all the proprieties that belonged to Harry…no longer paid their taxes to them. Simply put, it was a destructive financial blow to their economy —especially because many of the wizards who worked into the places belonging to the Duke had to either abandon the ministry's laws and take on the English Queen's ones, _or_ be forced out of the nation's grounds.

That resulted in more unemployed roaring their displeasure outside his office. Wizard had little things to spend money on. Magic like transfiguration could stem the money flow, and many more times Galleons were just shiny things to have…mostly.

Yet magic couldn't solve everything, because it was limited to the skill of the user. And many times…many times the user was just _pitiful_.

Salazar grumbled half-heartedly as he began to pen one proposition that he was sure the Wizengamot would refuse. At the same time, he carefully added into another sure to pass a few caveats he could exploit. He was not going to let the wizards rule themselves ever again if he had it his way.

And he would have it his way.

There just wasn't another possible way available after all…

_Harry _

The first problem he had to contend with occurred naturally on the first day of the lessons. The majority of the Durmstrang teachers stood accused of being accomplices with the blood rituals, which meant that they could not return as teachers in any circumstance, unless proven innocent.

Since it was a matter of international affair, it would take months just to find out who had the jurisdiction over it all. Until then, he put aside some of the curriculum and forewarned the students not to try private practices. That problem solved pretty well —in his opinion— he had hoped everything would be fine from there on, but the true crux of the matter was now that instead of the House divisions…

There was the Institute difference. Hogwarts students naturally did not like Durmstrang ones' and the Durmstrang students disliked the Hogwarts' ones. The trouble was that while Durmstrang was a 'down-to-Earth' type of institution, with magic explained for what it was…Hogwarts was the opposite.

Hogwarts was a fairy-tale. 'Magic' was a part of everyday life, but instead of pointing the finger to the potential it had, it pointed it to how 'nice' and 'neat' being a wizard was. Placing children in that mind-set inevitably made them _idealists_, who believed that magic served to 'stun' bad people, rather than kill them in vicious manners.

Voldemort was evil because he _killed_ his enemies, and because he went against the ministry. He wasn't evil because his ideas of Blood Purity were wrong —some members of the Wizengamot openly were in favour of those to begin with, like the Blacks of old…even though they had never taken up Voldemort's banner publicly.

Harry just exhaled, as his hands clenched against one more notice of eviction successfully perpetuated by the Goblin nation to a wizard family who refused the laws of the Queen. Wizards were traditionalists, they refused innovation in their very souls…and while Obliviation was the Ministry's general idea of 'solving problems'…

Harry could not let in all consciousness the practice keep up. He looked at Sophie, who was calmly flapping her wings on her perch while eating seeds, and groaned. "Why can't I have a life simple as yours?"

When tenants left, sometimes if evicted by force they left behind 'trouble' like broken stuff or clogged pipes. Wizards? Wizards left behind curses that could very well be _permanent_. The Goblins luckily did good Charmwork.

He shook his head.

Goblin desired wands, but the ICW and the Wizengamot of Magical England had refused.

Under the laws of the Queen however, no disparity of treatment was acceptable to her _subjects_. Since the Goblin's nation did not belong as _subjects_ of the Queen, one would have thought that the Goblins simply got nothing out of the deal.

One should think better than try and outsmart a goblin.

The laws of Immigration were clear in Great Britain and…and Goblins were considered Tier One subjects.

They already 'lived' in England and if they _applied_ to become British citizens then _nothing_ worked against it. Goblin wand-wielders protected Goblin nation businesses because they were British _Citizens_, subjected to the English laws. They worked in Goblin industries, in Goblin banks and on goblin soil, but they were _British_ and that gave them the loopholes needed to get wands.

They hadn't asked for students to come and learn at Hogwarts yet, but it would just be a matter of time. It felt like being in the fifties, when the first Dark Skinned students walked into university with people watching from the sides.

He could count on the muggleborns to act normal enough…at least, he _hoped_ that they would see the striking similarities. If they didn't…then he would have to crack down on their heads.

He closed his eyes and sighed once more. "I need to go for a walk."

Sophie trilled and flapped her wings, before gently coming to rest on his shoulders.

The phoenix nuzzled his hair as he walked out of his office, nodding his head at the students that passed near him and called him 'King'. The Praetorians slammed their fists against their leather vests when they saw him, and he smiled back at them.

The school was vast, and needed people to guard the students since the paintings were no longer 'alive'. Praetorians were there for that. They could choose to apply no matter their workload, and had a schedule that worked around their free time. Prefects patrolled at night in the old Hogwarts —now Praetorians stood guard every hour of the day in turns, in exchange for permission to remain at Hogwarts during the summer holidays doing menial tasks and what Harry called 'pocket change'.

Then again, they would receive food and clothing free of charge as well as a different set of rooms than the normal students, so the low wage was normal.

Many of the Praetorians belonged to orphanages because of that, and their loyalty…

It eerily reminded him of Caesar's own legion.

"Wyllt's Legion," he murmured to himself as he waved to a pair of Praetorians patrolling the second floor. Although considering they had the P of Praetorians…

"Potter's Legion?" he hazarded as he reached for the entrance hall.

Everyone had lessons at that time —everyone but him. He wasn't a kid any longer now: there was no studying, no running around trying to be on time to deliver homework and certainly no exams for him. His birthday hadn't even been celebrated that year.

He began to trek around the lake, which now sported not only the ruins of what was Salazar's favourite gazebo-on-the-water, but also the Durmstrang ship and the small flotilla that followed. The lake hadn't increased in size, but thankfully there was enough space in Hogwarts' refurnished docking area to hold many of them. The House Elves enjoyed cleaning the ships especially.

Harry's eyes caught the swimming forms of a few of the Durmstrang students. He naturally shuddered slightly and made a 'brr' sound at that spectacle. How could they swim with such weather? The water of the lake _had_ to be frozen! He neared them after a few minutes, watching the professor that stood watch over them —madam Hooch had been the Quidditch teacher for a long time, before Sirius Black had replaced her. With Black gone because of some sickness that had him in St. Mungo's, he needed replacements.

Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint had taken over the Quidditch side —they would not be playing Quidditch this year, but getting two heads to work out how to make a tournament work without houses was better than nothing— and also taught how to fly brooms to those who had never done so before.

Sure, they still were students _but_…that was the specific reason he had chosen them.

Quidditch practice was not supposed to be the 'inspiration' of all kids in the world of magic. Quidditch was a sport, not 'the' sport…and frankly, the Snitch gave too many points.

"Headmaster," Madam Hooch spoke firmly as he neared. "Come to see them training?"

"Just making a run for it," he replied with the hint of a smile. "Paperwork will kill me, I'm sure of it."

"The Durmstrang students are good," the old woman finally said. "They've…"

"Please," Harry replied. "_Hogwarts'_ students are good."

"Of course," she nodded inclining her head to the side. "Viktor Krum wanted me to ask if he could still follow his schedule with Durmstrang, because of his Quidditch career."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'll have to shift through the paperwork to find it then," he exhaled. "So much to do, so little time…is anyone top of the class in swimming?"

"The Eisenberg girl is the fastest of my class: she swims like a dolphin," Hooch said slowly. "But the Sidorov boy beats her in endurance." The old woman blew her whistle sharply once, making the swimmers stop. "Return to coast boys! Hour's nearly over!"

Harry watched with a mixture of amusement and curiosity as the students marched out in their swimming suits. The boys had trunks, while the girls all wore a one piece that did its best to look as plain and boring as possible while showing as little skin as it could.

Then again, with the cold of the lake's water…he didn't envy them.

"Aw, but the water is warm!" a pale-skinned boy who had to be Russian —judging by the accent— muttered. "It's way better than swimming in the middle of Durmstrang's icebergs."

"Shush it Volksgrad!" Sidorov remarked before turning his gaze to Harry and blinking. "Heinrich? Ah! So I was not wrong! See? Heinrich!"

"I'm actually Harry," he replied slowly. "I went by Heinrich in Durmstrang."

"Ah, pity," Sidorov sighed. "Heinrich was way better name, yes."

"Your grace," Brigitte spoke then with hesitation. "It is an honour to meet you," she made a curtsy, even with her swimsuit still on and a towel on her shoulders.

"No need for formalities," Harry replied hesitantly. He looked into their eyes and grimaced inwardly. He couldn't connect. Sure, Sidorov acted friendly, but his eyes betrayed the worry of going too far. Brigitte's eyes were appraising, but no longer with the snappish qualities they had when she went against Elmo's words. They were all actually tense.

He didn't _belong_ among them.

"I'll be going then," he nodded to Madam Hooch, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "I hope you will enjoy your education at Hogwarts."

He left ignoring the subtle exchange of whispers —both of surprise and of curiosity— from the students. He finished his round and walked to return to his office, when the hour finished and the students began to trickle out of the classrooms.

Around Harry, there was a circular space as he walked that made him feel…under scrutiny. Every student looked at him, mesmerized or curious. Every person whispered about him as he walked, bowed to him or waved at him. Many imitated the same salute of the Praetorians, a few girls giggled as he went by…

Yet now he knew what it meant to be _different_. It wasn't like first year: it was the opposite. Now people looked at him, they talked of him, they did not ignore him…but at the same time they left a void around him, because in their eyes…he probably was something else.

He wasn't a child. He wasn't an adult. He was stuck in between being Harry Potter and Duke Wyllt, between being King and Headmaster of Hogwarts and child who knew little of what he was doing. Yet at the same time he knew what he was doing, because it just felt _right_ whenever he commanded a Praetorian to solve a dispute in a way that benefitted all.

"King!" a hurried and fretful voice that showed panic halted him on his steps. "There is a problem in the duelling club room!"

Harry cursed under his breath. "What? What is it?"

"Durmstrang," Kevin Entwhistle said as he stopped to draw breath. "They've knocked out Parvati."

Harry brought up an eyebrow. Was Kevin of the belief he knew who Parvati was? He nodded to the boy to make haste and followed him, even as Sophie could have easily brought him there with but a shower of sparks. There was no need to hurry anyway, as the duelling club seemed having suffered through a hurricane where no one had emerged victorious.

The tall and narrow wood platform used for duels was badly charred and destroyed, as a few students were shallowly breathing with their bodies slumped down. A few were out cold against the walls, while others were scattered around the floor. Two Praetorians were down for the count, their bodies tied together with a conjured rope.

The groaning noises of a boy among the victims attracted Harry's attention, making him kneel to his side. The boy had dark hair and pale skin, and seemed to have gone through a render that had targeted only his clothes.

"What happened?" Harry asked calmly as he looked around: a few curious students who had followed him watched by the sides, but the Praetorians were already closing the area off and forcing the students to go to their lessons rather than dilly-dally around.

"Durmstrang…they…" the boy coughed. "Their duelling club."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment and then slowly stood up. "I see," he nodded. "Well," he sighed. "Kevin?" the boy was kneeling next to a olive skinned girl, probably of Indian descent. "Get Parvati," he didn't know her name to begin with, "to the infirmary together with the others. I'll have a chat with the duelling club."

He turned back and snapped his fingers, immediately eliciting the reaction of a nearby Praetorian. "Send the word: I want Durmstrang Duelling club in my office, all of them."

"Yes King," the Praetorian stood to attention, before running to where the other Praetorians probably were patrolling to share the order.

Harry reached for his office then, but not before giving a nod to Sophie who thrilled back and disappeared in a shower of sparks.

She knew what he was thinking after all. He sat down at his desk and swished his wand, letting all the open documents close and fly away in their folders and drawers, as he coughed to himself and gently snapped his fingers. A cup filled with Lemon Drops appeared in front of his desk as he clasped his hands together and stood in wait. The doors opened a moment later to admit ten students and Draco, who was apparently chaperoning them inside.

Sophie appeared in a shower of flames a moment later, bringing professor Flitwick with her.

"Headmaster," Filius nodded in his direction, the quarter-goblin eyes then moving towards the ten students. "Is something the problem?"

"King, these are the culprits," Draco said. "They confessed."

"Of course we did," one of the ten rolled his eyes. "We just challenged them and they _lost_. It's not our fault they lost their calm and kept rambling about dark spells being illegal and all that rubbish!" the boy who spoke was broad chested, with dark blond hair and striking blue eyes. "They cast the first spell and we simply defended ourselves."

Harry exhaled slowly and then chuckled. "Truth is in the middle ground," Harry's eyes pierced through the boy's own gaze, making him recoil slightly as they narrowed on him.

"You barged in with arrogance, demanding to challenge them," Harry spoke firmly and crisply. "And when you did win they acted in spite, that much is true…but _you_ were the one who cast back with _curses_ after the first spell came, weren't you, Gustaf?"

"How do you know my name?" the boy trembled.

"I am the headmaster of Hogwarts and Durmstrang," Harry replied with a mocking tone. "Do you believe I can't remember my students' names?" he raised an eyebrow. "Nevertheless, I believe a proper punishment should be placed. Curses are not something to trifle with, Gustaf. Your comrades, they used Jinxes, the occasional Hex from Mister Durmstrof over there can be ignored, since it's nothing the nurse cannot clear but in the end…I believe it is a matter of _mentality_," the boy's eyes then moved to Flitwick.

"I am sorry Professor Flitwick, but I will have to impose on you these students. Their desire to fling spells is too much for the school's normal coursework to handle, so I suppose I may ask you to teach them in the afternoon…for the next three days?"

The quarter-goblin smiled with the same feral smile that made Goblins feared as lawyers and bankers. When a goblin smiled, it generally was never safe to be in the same room.

"Of course, Headmaster," the professor nodded.

"P-professor Flitwick? The…duel champion?" one of the Durmstrang students swallowed nervously.

"Of course these ten will not be the only ones," Harry insisted. "Let us say the students who attacked first of Hogwarts will also join in the punishment." His emerald eyes twinkled for a moment. "I hope I make myself clear that should something like this happen again…I will not be lenient," he then inclined his head towards the cup filled with sweets.

"Lemon drop, anyone?"

Nobody took one.

A real pity: their secret ingredient was laxative after all.

He rather wondered how Dumbledore had managed to avoid eating a single one of those…there had to be a reason.

He shook his head. It wouldn't do to dwell on the things of the past.

"You are dismissed," he said then dryly to the students and the professor. They all left sheepishly, albeit a few were smiling about 'punishment' with a renowned duellist. The only one who remained behind was Draco, who fidgeted slightly from his position.

"My King?" Draco's voice sounded hesitant as he spoke. "You went lightly with them."

Harry nodded. "No need to expel someone on the second day," he exhaled. "And the damage was not enough to warrant physical punishment."

"They attacked Hogwarts' students…"

"They _are_ Hogwarts students," Harry sighed. "It will take some time to get used to it. I asked for the professors to share a bit of the work load, and to revise the curriculum but…I'll need to find a replacement for professor McGonagall since she intends on going on retirement soon and then I'll need more professors who can hopefully do something more than just wave their wands and act silly," he groaned. "Mad-Eye Moody at least is doing his job properly."

Draco blinked. "He actually accepted?"

"Of course he did, Draco," Harry shook his head. "Keep your enemies closer than your friends: it always works."

"I have a bad feeling about the tournament, King," Draco spoke slowly. "Can it not be cancelled?"

"Unfortunately it can't," Harry grimaced. "If it could, I would have done so immediately. There's an unbreakable vow in place that the headmasters of the school of Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons have to participate at Hogwarts…at a Triwizard Tournament."

"Why is the Universitatis participating then?" Draco's face scrunched up in thought.

"Because to be a Triwizard tournament, it requires three schools…as of now, this is more of a Hogwarts-Durmstrang fusion."

"The headmaster of the Universitatis accepted?"

"Madam Isabella Rossi actually _asked_ to participate. She got to me before the American university or the Germanian one could…I wonder what's so important about it…it's just a tournament, one with more deaths than what-not."

Harry groaned as he banged his head against the desk. Papers began to emerge from the drawers, piling up neatly around him and forming a sort of paper wall. "Draco…do you know how hard this stuff is?"

"Ehm…No?"

"Well, let me tell you that the house elves do not create food from nothing, and they don't replicate it even. It has to be bought, and buying food works on a contract basis that is given to the one who can offer the best product at the lowest price, yet I can't just get food from the lowest one…because cheap food has a reason it's cheap!" Harry grimaced as he brought his hands up.

"And the food also has to be transported and the cost of transportation varies! And some types of food are inedible if they go through portkey transfer! Did you know there's no ice-cream because it somewhat _**COMBUSTS**_ when it goes through a portkey?"

"Harry?"

"Oh, and let's not forget," here he was sarcastic. "That the taxes of half the shops of Hogsmeade have been conveniently levied by the ministry when it should have gone to the school's treasury! The Shrieking shack was supposed to become a Victorian house in the late eighteenth century. Guess what? _Hogwarts is still paying the workers for it!_" Harry groaned. "And here? Here there are at least five accounts of different pleads from the merpeople to get the giant squid out of the lake, because it _eats them_!"

"But the squid is harmless!"

"To humans! And Dumbledore knew mermish so that's not an excuse!" Harry scoffed. "Of course if we consider the squid was a defence against thieves, then it makes _sense_." He slammed his right hand against the desk, scattering a few papers that returned atop their piles a moment later. "But it doesn't excuse it!"

"Ehm…Harry? What's the point?"

"The point is!" Harry clenched his hands tightly into fists. "I'm not supposed to be doing this! Someone else is! An accountant, a financial guru, someone who can waste time doing this while I actually…you know, study the _coursework_ for Hogwarts!"

"It's just the second day," Draco spoke carefully. "You'll do better as time goes by."

"Oh, I'm sure I will," Harry grumbled. "I nearly forgot: there are new laws passing by with the ministry. Those who claim citizenship in 'this blasphemous anarchic state known as New Magical Britain' cannot have their seats in the Wizengamot."

Draco swallowed nervously. "They passed it?"

"Unanimously," Harry nodded. "And by the way, I also have five different pureblood families demanding I hand back their children for 'proper re-education'. The goblin placed wards stopped two dozen attempts at curse-mail, apparition and attackers…five minutes ago. I cannot allow Hogsmeade weekends to come to pass with this situation for the safety of the students, and there is still Voldemort's threat somewhere in the world!"

The fourteen years old boy laughed bitterly. "The Queen herself trusts me, Draco…do you know what it means? I have to uphold at least that trust…" he shook his head. "I…I don't know what I'm doing, but…" he swallowed nervously. "This won't happen again," his eyes steeled as he narrowed them once more on his friend.

"Draco? I never broke down in front of you, understood?"

Draco nodded awkwardly. "If…you want to talk about it…"

"No," he exhaled and shook his head. "I am the King of Hogwarts. I do not break down and my age is unimportant," he clenched his fists. "You have lessons, Knight Malfoy: go and attend them."

Draco saluted and spun to leave, stopping when his hand reached the door of the office. "You know, King? I could…take notes for both of us."

There was silence. Draco held his breath. He didn't know how Harry would take his offer. He supposed he was silently refusing when he finally heard him speak.

"I'd like that, Draco."

The Malfoy heir stepped out of the office then, leaving behind Harry who was slightly grinning.

With a defeated sigh, the King of Hogwarts resumed his bureaucratic workload…

To think it would double when the tournament began…

He shuddered.

The House Elf in the kitchen immediately provided him with a mug of tea the next second.

"Merlin bless the House Elves," Harry murmured as he drank.

_Hermione Granger_

She was taking notes next to Hilda Gould. The girl was stocky, with chestnut hair and dark eyes. This was the first class done with a mixed group rather than a simple house division. It was alphabetical, like with Universities. The A-M letters had one, the N-Z another. Both split in half to ensure a correct rotation, and their schedules were simply 'swapped' between the two halves. She had come up with it herself.

Well, she had made a research during the summer and looked up how to deal with multiple students and a small number of professors, and this had been her best solution.

Harry had approved of course —he trusted her. She neatly scribbled down the Transfiguration notes, adding a long line of questions to ask the professor afterwards.

The lesson proceeded normally, as the quills mixed with the pencils among the parchments and the papers. Innovation came to Hogwarts silently with the new tides of students and the new needed materials. She giggled to herself a moment later.

After Transfiguration, she had _Maths_. Then there was modern history, and _Chemistry_.

Professor Balding and Professor Snape were quite funny to see in the same room, because they somehow hated each other's guts for no apparent reason.

The fact one was a muggleborn whom had left the wizardry world behind to take a degree in Chemistry and the other was 'the greasy bat of the dungeon' actually made their contrasts funnier.

Hermione's eyes travelled to where Malfoy was supposed to be, only to find his seat still empty. She gritted her teeth. Why wasn't Harry calling on her?

She knew that the only reason Malfoy wasn't in class had to do with Harry: it was the only thing that excused Knights from going to their lessons after all.

Draco did enter the class a few minutes before it ended, avoiding the dangerous glare of McGonagall as he sat down and took the last remnants of what notes he could.

She stood up crisply as the lesson finished, and once having waved goodbye to Hilda —who waved back at her hesitantly— she stepped close to the blond foppish bastard.

"So?"

"So 'what' Knight Granger?" Draco asked raising an eyebrow.

"What did Harry need?"

"The King needed nothing," Draco replied calmly.

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Nothing?"

"Nothing, Knight Granger, nothing at all."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "If it's nothing, then why are you writing down a copy of your notes, Knight Malfoy?"

Draco said nothing. Hermione raised an eyebrow. "For who are you taking those notes?"

Silence.

"Harry?"

A flinch, a glance away.

"He asked you."

Hermione's voice was monotone as she spoke.

"He _asked_ you…"

Slowly, Hermione walked out of the classroom. She didn't know why her steps brought her through the castle's hallways without a precise destination, up towards the last wing and then above once more, to the top of the astronomy tower.

"Harry doesn't need me," Hermione murmured as she looked at the edge of the tower. "He doesn't need me."

She shook her head. "He never did…did he?" she laughed bitterly. "I was nothing more than a follower!" her wand was out as she began to cast against the edge made of masonry of the tower. "I was nothing more than a weight!"

The stone exploded as curse after curse shattered against it. "Was I ever needed!?" she screamed to the sky. "_WHY WASN'T I NEEDED_!?" she sobbed and fell on the ground, throwing her wand to her side and bringing her hands to cover her face. "Why? Why not me?"

She shook her head and cried, letting the tears fall until she dried them up. When a cold breeze picked up, she looked up to see the night sky. She bit her lips and rubbed her eyes. She was probably a mess.

No.

This wasn't Harry's fault.

This was…Lillian. Yeah, it had to be her.

She had told the girl to stay away from Harry.

Her so-called 'friend' had probably done so, since she had told her yesterday but…but what if she hadn't?

What if she had told Harry?

What if she had convinced Harry that there was no need to trouble 'Hermione' for something, and instead trouble others?

What if…

No, that was impossible.

She slowly descended from the tower, reaching for the dining hall, when she crossed Lillian's path.

She had a K on her robes.

Knight.

Harry had knighted her.

No.

_No_.

No. _No_. **No**. _**No**_.

"Hermione?" Lillian murmured hesitantly. "Harry was worried about you," she began. "You went missing and…"

"You talked to Harry," Hermione spoke coldly. Her voice covered in frost and dripping venom. How dared she? How dared she try to replace her?

"Harry…he asked me to," Lillian replied. She was lying, she had to be! "He's scared, Hermione…he needs help."

Traitor. Filthy traitors that did not believe in the King had to die. The King was not afraid, he was never afraid, he didn't need help, he didn't need her help.

Harry didn't need anyone's help if he didn't need Hermione's…so the girl was lying.

Hermione's hand went for her wand, but she mentally cursed herself: she had forgotten it on the astronomy tower.

"Accio wand!" Hermione snarled with her hand wide open behind her. She had never done wandless magic before, but the important thing was intent. If she concentrated…if she truly _believed_ in it…then the wand would come to her.

And Lillian's wand came to her —it was closer, and the spell was apparently powerful enough to attract her.

She grasped around the wand, which felt wrong in her hand…but it was still _enough_.

"Hermione!" Lillian screamed as she pointed her wand at her.

"You're an eyesore," Hermione muttered. "_**AVADA**_—"

"_**TRUDO!"**_ she felt a strong pressure to her chest before she could complete the death spell, and suddenly her entire body rocketed away from the ground and against the wall of the hallway. She hit her back against it, her head hurting as her eyes caught on the form of Harry walking quickly by and stopping…right next to Lillian.

"I'm sorry Hermione," Lillian whispered. "But you need help."

"No," she weakly said.

"Accio," Harry murmured as Lillian's wand flew quickly away from her hand and landed in Harry's palm. "Hermione…"

"No," she shook her head with tears in her eyes. "Why?"

Harry kneeled next to the girl, his left hand gone to her cheek. "Hermione," he murmured. "What is the problem?"

"You don't need me," she weakly whispered. "I…I'm good for nothing," she added.

"That's not true," Harry hesitated. "You can do many things."

"You…You never rely on me."

"I thought you wanted a peaceful student life," he retorted gently letting his forehead rest against hers. He was warm…or maybe it was her forehead that was cold —she couldn't tell the difference.

"I want you," Hermione murmured then. Her traitorous voice already left her throat before she could control it. "I really want you, Harry…please…"

And Harry's emerald eyes looked at hers, and then both of his hands slowly pressed against her shoulders. "I know," there were tears in his eyes. Why was he about to cry? "I know and…"

He kissed her, and she felt her heart skip a beat at that.

She blushed and anxiously tried to kiss him back, abruptly trying to work her first kiss in something dreamy to be forever remembered.

"And I'm sorry, Hermione, for everything…" and then she felt _Lillian's_ wand press against her temple. "I'm _sorry_."

"Ha—"

"Harry no!" Lillian screamed.

"_**OBLIVIATE!**_"

And she saw darkness afterwards…

_Lillian Potter_

And Hermione slumped down on the ground as a thick set of strands of grey emerged from her temple, that Harry slowly placed into a vial.

The boy stood up, his face a mask, and then he turned his steel green eyes to her. "This never happened." He hissed. "Hermione Granger _never happened_."

"Harry! What are you doing!?" Lillian's scream was met with Harry placing his right hand in front of her mouth, scaring her as he hissed.

"I'm saving my _friend_ from herself," he breathed in slowly, before bitterly handing her wand back to her. "Priori Incantatem will show you using the Obliviate on Hermione Granger if questions arise…so for your own good," his own wand pointed at her chest. "This never happened."

She bit her lips and clenched her hand over her wand, before looking back at her brother and yelling in frustration.

"Damn it, Harry! This is wrong! You can't do this, it's against the law and…"

"_Might makes right_," Harry hissed. "And if I hear a word of this anywhere else…I will make it so," he swished his wand quickly, levitating Hermione. "She's going to wake up in a few minutes. Carry her back to her dorm and remember my words…" he grabbed Lillian by the hem of her robes. "If this…any of this…if you dare say any of this to _anyone_…" his breathing hitched and his hands trembled, while his skin took on a pale color. "Then I _swear_ I will show you _no mercy_."

"You said you wanted to change," Lillian cried as he let her go. "You said you didn't want to…"

"We're talking about Hermione here! Not some random student!" Harry yelled back. "Hermione was sent to Azkaban because of _me_! They faulted her for something she hadn't done! She ended up in Durmstrang because of me! She fought and risked her life because of me! _**SHE DIED BECAUSE OF ME**_! And you dare, you dare think she's the same as a bunch of retarded students who deserved to die? She's worth twenty of them! Two hundred of them! And I will not let you ruin her life; I will not let _ME_ ruin her life any longer…" he shook his head.

"Then again," he exhaled. "There's only one way to be sure."

"Har—"

"_Obliviate_."

_Harry_

The more time passed…

He looked with uncaring eyes as Lillian slumped on the floor, next to Hermione. He'd say he found them both fighting in the corridors and knocked them cold. He let the rush of power run through his veins a moment more, before he finally ground himself back to reality.

The Queen's law was clear on those who Obliviated for no good reason.

He had just infringed the law twice.

He chuckled. He was above the law, wasn't he?

No, he wasn't…but there were circumstances, and these…these were right.

He heard a muffled gasp from the end of the corridor, and as he turned to look he saw a first year still on his path. He had stumbled there by chance he supposed.

But what if he had heard about his 'Obliviate'?

"You all right?" Harry asked the boy as he walked closer to him. "I found those two knocked out there, can you call a professor?"

The first year timidly turned around and in that moment…

Harry struck again.

Slumping the third Obliviated body around another corner, he couldn't help but grit his teeth. He wasn't doing this because of some egoistical gain for himself.

He wasn't doing to a child what had happened to him because he enjoyed it.

He was doing this…for someone else, someone he cherished.

He was doing this…

For the Greater Good.

The moment he thought that…

Harry began to _laugh_.

**Author's notes**

**If Harry defeated his Power Rush in the second chapter, it would be boring.**

**Took me some time to write it down. Was looking for the best way to portray the scenes.**

**Harry should pass off as a hypocrite, then again give a wand to a kid and count the minutes before he starts rampaging.**


	3. The Chosen Sacrifice

Harry Potter and the Wrath of the Elder Gods

Chapter Three

"_The promise given was a necessity of the past: the word broken is a necessity of the present."_

_-Niccolò Machiavelli, 'The Prince'._

Harry twisted his wand in the air, flinging a spell silently against a wooden mannequin. Another soon followed, and as his rage began to mount so too did the viciousness of his spells. He slashed, broke, torn to bits and burned, built again and then torn apart once more the wooden figure without pause. His breathing grew ragged as he silently kept on throwing spell after spell to vent off his frustration.

How could he justify his actions?

The thought of doing it for the Greater Good sickened him, making him feel the inside of his throat bitter and acidic, as if the gastric refuse was just then climbing up from his stomach. He spat out verbally a dark curse, one of those the ministry had outright banned because of its viciousness, and watched with an amused glint as the limbs of the mannequin were all twisted and splintered.

It had started as a spell to debone a chicken and set apart its wings to deep fry.

It became a dark curse to shatter an enemy and render him helpless on the ground to die.

"Moleo, Trudo, Ignis…" he chanted as he slashed repeatedly with his wand going through the proper movements. He had to be faster than that. Salazar was faster than that: he could kill with but a flicker. He needed to be stronger, smarter and _faster_. He needed to be the best. Acid poured out of his wand as the spell he murmured melted the mannequin.

Fire burned the remains, soon followed by a freezing gust of ice. The conjured spikes of earth shattered and scrambled the remains in the air, where a small hurricane scattered them in the room. Harry bit down on his tongue, his breathing slow to calm his heart. _It wasn't enough_. He could train for hundreds of years and it still wouldn't be enough!

He slowly placed his wand back in his holster, before settling his robes and leaving the training room. His gaze lingered for a few seconds on the still tapestry of the trolls dancing —now that they were blocked, it looked more as if the wizard was casting curses at them and they were falling backwards, rather than teaching them how to dance.

It was October the thirty-first, and on that day the other schools would come to Hogwarts. They would arrive during dinner, and already he had given orders to the house elves to put out more chairs and transfigure the tables to be longer. The supplies would spike for quite a good bit, since the schools had brought a chunk of their entire student body —to compare teaching courses and whatnot.

Only the students of age had permission to participate though. He and the other headmasters would personally take their names and then place them in the Goblet of Fire. The Goblet was set to remain in his office, guarded by both Sophie and five house elves, until the time would come for it to spew out the names of the contestants.

Apparently, the 'Triwizard' tournament involved three schools and the damn cup. He couldn't understand why wizards had to 'bind' their magic to such a stupid artefact. Why not just ask the headmasters to write them down on a list to participate in a potentially suicidal tournament?

"Stupid wizards," Harry cursed as he quickly made his way across the empty corridor of the seventh floor. "Stupid laws, stupid wizards and stupid idiocy!" he stomped his feet on the ground as he moved. "And stupid me." He softly whispered as he slowly took care to appear unblemished and controlled, schooling his features before reaching for the hallways the student did in fact frequent.

He smiled and walked; he took care to appear perfectly at ease with the fact he was going to host a dangerous and probably lethal tournament on the grounds of Hogwarts.

The tasks had of course already been set. He wondered if Dumbledore had been tipsy when he had signed them. Dragons, a trip in the lack in February and then a maze filled with dangerous creatures —the old Headmaster had even paid a _Sphinx_ to be there!

The cost of hiring additional security for the dragons, of getting them moved to the castle and everything else…he was glad he actually had quite a bit of money, because otherwise he'd be broke before the end of the year.

He wondered if even from the afterlife, the man was spiting on him.

"Harry!" the frantic voice of Lillian made him stop and turn, bringing up an eyebrow as the girl arrived with a ragged and short breath. "Everyone's ready!" she said with a charming smile. "We can start whenever they arrive!"

"Was there any problem?" he asked carefully.

"Nope," Lillian suddenly frowned and looked around for a moment, before sighing and gesturing towards the corner of the hallway.

Harry's breath hitched as he watched Hermione emerge from the corner. Her black hair was loose behind her shoulders, but she was holding on to a pile of books and sheepishly keeping her gaze down.

"Ah, Hermione! Come on! You know Harry doesn't bite!" Lillian giggled.

"Lillian," Hermione murmured softly. "You should address the King with 'Your Highness' or 'Your Grace'…"

"It's all right," Harry said with a small smile. "My friends call me Harry all the same," he shrugged as he looked around. "Are the lessons over?"

"N-No! I told you it was a bad idea, Lillian! We shouldn't have left earlier…"

Lillian sighed. "It was just five minutes, Hermione! And five bloody minutes aren't…"

"Language," Harry chided his sister. "Hold your tongue young lady."

"Young lady?" Lillian remarked with an affronted tone. "I'm your twin sister Harry! What are you talking like, an old man!?"

"Lillian…" Hermione whispered fearfully. "She didn't mean it, your Highness!"

Harry just sighed and shook his head gently. "It's nothing worthy of being troubled over, Miss Granger," he chuckled then. "I'll be looking forward to the spectacle we have prepared for the other schools then," he turned once more his head to stare behind him. "You can go," he added then softly.

"You're not coming to dinner yet?" Lillian asked.

"No, I think I'm being called to my office," Harry muttered, "Yes," he felt a slight pulse on the back of his hand. "Most definitively my office."

He dashed off, leaving behind the two flabbergasted girls. He reached the floor to find the Gargoyle guarding the entrance torn to rubble with loose rocks hanging from the pedestal itself. He jumped over the broken stone statue, wand in hand and invisibility cloak rising to cover him.

Harry reached the entrance of his office to find it perfectly unscathed. There wasn't a single paper out of place, and the house elves standing guard hadn't even moved from their positions. Sophie thrilled as she heard a noise —him walking in— and then remained quiet, eying him.

The goblet of fire burned normally, without any strange or different from normal reaction from it. The purple flame that would remain lit until the end of the day burned brightly, without actually emitting heat. Harry kept his breath steady and slow, as he took a step forward and then another. He saw the glint of something coming down on him from the sides and barely managed to avoid it.

His wand was out and slashing the air before he could stop it. The lances of pure force impacted against the cloaked figure —sending it to slam against the wall opposite him. Sophie thrilled and flapped its wings open wide, as the phoenix flew in a comet of fire against the now visible aggressor.

Harry gave one last look at the five house elves that stood guard —all of them were immobile…immobilized or petrified, probably.

Quietly, not giving away his own invisibility, Harry took in the appearance of the man who had brute forced his way inside.

There was a light pop and a shrill voice.

"Master Crouch sir!"

The elf grabbed onto Sophie who had been clawing at the man's face, tearing her apart and throwing her with force on the ground. Harry saw red.

"_IGNIS!"_ Harry bellowed as the burning fires emerged from his wand and burned the elf before he could even take a single step towards the intruder. He wasn't going to let the _thing_ get away with harming Sophie. Furthermore, the elf had managed to enter his office… _that_ had to be their way in after all. The elf had bypassed the wards with relative ease —goblin wards were not as powerful as they seemed then— but if that was the case…then why destroy the Gargoyle?

He couldn't risk the man escaping anyway, so with his emergency road removed…

The man laughed.

His skin was pale —cadaveric actually— his eyes were dark and deep circles ran around his eyes. His hair was scraggly and unkempt, and there was an air of _cold_ and _despair_ that circled around him that all but screamed a single word…

_Azkaban_.

The Wizengamot had refused to pay him to hold the prisoners of Azkaban, and had demanded them back rather than let him re-trial them and then decide. This had to be one of the prisoners, one that had escaped and had made his way in Hogwarts.

Or one that Salazar had released willingly?

Harry narrowed his eyes. Therefore, the _game_ was on.

"Mother will be pleased," the figure cackled. His wand flailed around loosely now. There no longer was a reason to hide, and it showed as the papers around the room began to fly. "I'm going to do the right thing now," his wand levelled in his general direction.

"BURN!" fire erupted from the tip of the man's wand, forcing Harry to hiss and return the challenge.

"_GLACIUS_!" cold freezing wind erupted as the cloak of invisibility billowed behind his back, the jet of frozen air extinguishing the flames and moving forth. The figure —even though he looked so frail he should have fallen over and _died_ moved to the side deftly and sent a strange purple coloured curse his way.

The attack wasn't well aimed and with minimum effort Harry sent it back with a quick Protego, before twisting his wand with a counter-clockwise motion thrice and delivering a horde of thin needle-like iron missiles against the intruder.

The needles sprayed in the air as Harry slammed another gust of wind to change their direction —that apparently was one of Flitwick's favourite duelling tricks. Then he followed it with the transfiguration into a trove of snakes —poisonous ones.

The man screamed as a few needles pierced his robes before transforming into Harry's favourite scaly friends and began to bite down on his skin.

"No! Mother wanted me happy!" the gaunt figure slashed his wand down diagonally, letting a rupture of cold and darkness appear in the room's air, before it suddenly began to suck in with a powerful vacuum force everything around them.

It didn't last much, merely a few seconds, but it was enough to show the effects on the things 'half-way' in. They emerged _chewed_ and _twisted_ from the other side. That probably was a dark curse.

An extremely horrific and bad one considering he didn't know about it...he'd probably have to ask Gellert, if he managed to capture the man alive. A pulse of force hit square in the chest the prisoner, soon followed by another and then a third that was particularly vicious —as it tore his wand arm apart.

"ARGH! My master will not be stopped, blood traitor!" the man held onto the broken stump of his arm as Harry stepped forward. "You're nothing more than filth beneath his boots!" he roared once more. "An eye for an eye! A tooth for a tooth! Mom always said I was a good boy," the half-delusional man whispered once more, as if talking to himself. "_YOU WILL NOT WIN, TRAITOR_!" as soon as he yelled that, Harry's wand reached the man's temple.

The intruder blacked out a moment later, as Harry took a deep breath of relief.

He heard the sound of creaking boots on stone and spun around quickly, sending a volley of ethereal lances against whoever had been foolish enough to make noise behind him.

Alastor Moody hastily brought up a shield of conjured stone —which noticeably chipped as Harry took the time to breathe and calm down.

"Never come behind me like that," Harry hissed.

"Constant Vigilance," Alastor smirked. "I share the same belief boy, well placed forbidden spell by the way," he took a step forward. "I think I missed on a great duel between Dark Arts practitioners."

"I doubt it," Harry rolled his eyes. He swiftly threw a Reparo on the broken and bleeding arm of the intruder, before looking at the house elves. "I hope they're just immobilized rather than dead," bolts of grey light escaped Harry's wand and slammed into the frozen bodies of the five elves, who immediately widened their eyes and began moving frantically around babbling about 'failure' and 'punishments'.

"Calm down!" Harry barked, earning their immediate attention.

Ten giant eyes the size of a baseball looked at him with an air of grief, as if they were waiting for him to punish them. "Twizzle? Get the intruder to the prisons and make sure he's kept under tight security! Funky? Tell Severus we are in need of Veritaserum. Dazzly? Warn Mister Gordsworth of what transpired. Chappily? Get Knight Malfoy to set Hogwarts on High Alert, but to do it quietly and…" he was about to say to get help from Knight Granger, but he held his tongue. He wasn't going to shove the girl in the _darkness_ once more. He would trudge alone and with those already tainted…he would not let the girl corrupt herself again.

"And Sunny? Get all the elves not assigned in the kitchens and start patrolling for elves that do not belong to the castle or aren't permitted to stay here."

The five elves nodded and disappeared with a pop, leaving behind Sophie who just then struggled to get her talons back on the carpet. The phoenix thrilled weakly, as Harry carefully grabbed her and gently nudged her on his shoulder. Alastor snorted and moved to leave. "I'll be going to warn the staff then," he left in a hurry, but Harry didn't think much of it: they were at each other's guts every now and then…but then again, the man was probably a spy for the ministry…and it was better to keep your enemies closer than your friends.

He brought both hands to his hair —he had to cut it eventually, but he just didn't have the time. Someone else stepped in his office a moment later.

"Harry?" Lillian's voice was worried as she took a few more steps forward. "Are you all right? I saw you running and—"

"Yeah," he exhaled slowly and turned sporting a smile on his face. "I'm all right. Everything's fine," he kept the smile on and acted as if nothing had happened, while he gently pushed Lillian out of his office and followed her towards the dining hall.

"Harry!" the voice of Draco reached him, as he was halfway through the corridor of the fourth floor. "What's going on? The—"

"Draco, not now," Harry hissed. "We have guests to receive," he added then. Draco swallowed nervously and nodded, but that just made Lillian suspicious.

"What's going on where?" she asked as Harry kept on walking. He didn't answer his sister, taking the stairway down to the second floor. "Harry?"

"Later Draco," Harry replied calmly. "First we let our esteemed guest in, and then we deal with the rest."

There was no doubt in Harry's mind, as he made his way in the dining hall and from there towards the entrance and the courtyard, that there had been _two_ persons entering his office. One had entered through brute-force; the other had left behind the first as a distraction. The arrival of the house elf afterwards and her shock clearly told him whoever had brought the man in had done so with the use of a more roundabout mean…

Imperius naturally sprung to Harry's mind.

An invisibility cloak, the man imperiused to follow and then destroy the gargoyle…a quick immobilizing of the house elves while invisible soon followed by 'something' they had done to his office…no, to the goblet of fire. Harry wasn't an imbecile any longer: he could see where all the arrows pointed. It was as bright as the sun what the intentions had been: to meddle with the cup. They had slipped some names inside, and he had a guess on which to boot.

He was _safe_ because as Headmaster of the school, he could not participate, and his name would simply burn if chosen and another extracted.

This could both be a political manoeuvre from Salazar —get him to insert a first year in the cup, and then have him killed to shock the world— or attack someone close to him, like Draco or Hermione. Maybe the Girl-Who-Lived herself could be the target.

He gritted his teeth and carefully watched as the carriages carried by the Pegasi —there was no way he'd call those things Abraxans— descended gently on the lane left clear of the courtyard. Right next to where the carriages came down —blue powdered carriages with gold decorations and the Beauxbatons coat of arms— a slow cracking of the ground announced the arrival of the _Universitatis._

As the Romans were the masters of the _Strata_, the _Road_, so too was their mean of magical group travelling something similar. The ground outright split apart to reveal cobblestones, tightly packed and compressed upon which there was a rhythmic marching of boots. The students of the Universitatis arrived clad in Roman armour —judging by how they were sweating they actually had _real_ armours on, and the full equipment of a legionnaire to boot.

At the head of the march was an old looking woman, the headmistress Isabella Rossi, carrying an old Roman flag with the _SPQR_ letters written in gold upon a red banner, with the small golden statue of an eagle perched atop it that actually squawked and shrieked while flapping its wings.

"Legionnaires!" Isabella barked as the 'troop' of students arrived completely through the underground road. "Halt!"

As one, they stopped and as the cobblestone disappeared and the hole they had passed through closed, it left behind a group of tired, sweaty and outright moaning from sore muscles students.

"_Non faremo la strada indietro allo stesso modo, vero?_" a particularly overweight boy groaned out loud as he removed the helmet from his head. His hair was light brown and scraggly looking, with a pair of glasses on his slightly round face.

"_Zitto che la strega ti sente!"_ a taller brown-haired girl snapped back at him.

Isabella Rossi walked forward just as Madame Maxime descended from her carriage with a huff. Both women stopped as sort of 'points' of a triangle, which had the third point with Harry who stood with both his hands behind his back.

"I bid thee welcome into Hogwarts' grounds, Madame Maxime, Madame Rossi," he made a bow with his right hand moving in front of his chest, "I am the Headmaster, Harry Wyllt."

"Polite Boy," Maxime said. "Young maybe," she added with her half-broken English.

"Age has nothing to do with skill or power," Isabella Rossi remarked rolling her eyes. "Anyway, are we going to stay out here to die from old age? I need someplace to get the armour stored —someplace safe."

"Of course," Harry acquiesced. "The House Elves will take care of that," he turned to Draco. "Knight Malfoy will oversee them personally," he then brought his right arm towards the entrance. "Shall we head inside, my fair ladies?"

"Insufferable English-man," a French accented voice commented from the side of the Beauxbatons carriage, belonging to a blond half-Veela beauty that had her arms crossed over her chest.

Nobody heard her, and thus Harry simply guided the group through the entrance and by the tapestry that depicted his actions. He frowned as he looked past the normal end of the cloth. There had been an addition to it…

It showed him standing with his wand out and his other free arm held upwards, with the palm of his left hand open and the hands crooked as if to hold some sort of orb —there wasn't, it was more of a 'bad guy' pose a la 'ha! I have won, Mister Bond!'

He was apparently flinging spells at a dark figure against a wall, while the Goblet of Fire stood to the sides of them with the flames burning brightly…and every now and then increasing in length as if something entered them and burned consequently. Behind him five elves stood huddled in a sort of 'adoring gaze of hero worship' as he probably resembled their protector from evil…well, as much as his face that showed a harsh and stern glare could permit.

Harry smiled as if nothing was strange about the tapestry…so the elves updated it regularly to boot? Wonderful…he hadn't enough troubles as it was. "You wish to make a performance entering the dining hall, correct?" he asked as he stood in front of the dining hall's double doors. "Will you need any props?"

"That won't be necessary," Isabella spoke firmly.

"Yes…we will go in last, best let the Italians go first," Madame Maxime said. "Would not want her die from old age, non?" she smiled sweetly —as sweetly as a half-giantess could— while looking towards Headmistress Rossi who just barked out a dry chuckle.

"Your funeral," Isabella smiled. Harry entered the dining halls after nodding at them, and tapped his throat with his wand.

"Students of Hogwarts!" he exclaimed with his voice now rising in the decibels. "_Let me hear you!"_ people began furiously to clap as he walked through the dining hall towards his seat at the table. "Tonight, we welcome the students and the staff of Beauxbatons and the Universitatis!"

There were a few whistle-calls and louder claps as the doors swung open again, to admit the Italian students of the Universitatis.

They stepped inside with a military cadence, clapping their hand in rhythm as a few sang in Latin a few bits and pieces of some unknown Gregorian chant. It was nice to hear, not overtly spectacular but nice all the same. The Beauxbatons students made a small dance bit instead, letting the 'head' of the dance be a blond haired girl that was vaguely familiar to Harry.

His emerald eyes moved from her face to that of the girls near her. He could sense their jealousy from his position, and that said it all. He smiled and clapped his hands as the spectacle finished and the extra students took their seats, before standing up.

"Now, Hogwarts welcomes and thanks you, students of Beauxbatons and the Universitatis, with our own hymn!"

The trumpets began to sing from a corner of the room. The students began to clap louder and louder as a few stood up to join the chorus. It had been rehearsed to make it appear random, but in truth the ones singing were all those that weren't outright tone-deaf.

"_God Save our gracious Queen!" _a few of them began, but others instead…

"_God Save our courteous King!"_

"_Long Live our noble Queen!"_

"_Long Rule our gallant King!"_

"_God Save the Queen!"_

"_God Save the King!"_

And the Hymn went on, as Harry himself sang the parts related to the Queen of England, letting the students do those of the King of their own accord. By the time the national anthem of Great Britain ended, there was a resounding cheer from the students, which soon followed a polite coughing to end the noise from Harry.

"Very well," he said in a crisp voice as he nodded to his right where Madame Maxime was sitting and then to his left where Madame Isabella Rossi was. "As many of you have come to know through the small talk, Hogwarts will host the Triwizard tournament this year!"

Low bursts of murmurs soon echoed excitedly through the dining hall, interrupted only by the continuous coughing from the Praetorians who finally managed to get the student body back to silence.

"The prospect of a potentially fatal tournament, held in a school, is something I find utterly appalling and disgusting," Harry continued harshly. "Were it not for the magical contract binding the Headmasters of all schools participating, I would have kept this tradition completely and utterly buried. Sure, you may think of it as a famous tournament and a wonderful way to become famous…but it is a tournament that has always yielded _DEATHS_!" he snarled, earning the complete silence —now chilling— of the room.

"Only _students of age_ will be granted permission to participate, and only after they have delivered on to me their names. The choice of who will participate will be left to the Goblet of Fire, an ancient artefact that is impartial in his choices…but remember this: once your name has been chosen, to refuse participation will equate with the loss of your magic. The goblet itself will not relit until next year when, hopefully, I will have that dastardly thing melted and torn asunder," he then firmly clapped his hands together once, and an elf appeared with the goblet in question.

"Now, before we have dinner…those who wish to participate, come forth and state your names!"

There was a moment of silence, before a boy of Hogwarts stood.

"Cedric Diggory, of Hogwarts!"

Another stood.

"Viktor Krum, of Hogwarts!"

A third soon rose. "Angelina Johnson, of Hogwarts!"

"Babette Marleau, de Beauxbatons!" one of the French girls soon said standing up. Harry looked to Madame Maxime who nodded and wrote down her name.

"Jean-Jacque de Montferrat, de Beauxbatons!" a French boy pointed out.

"Fleur Delacour, De Beauxbatons!" the familiar blond haired girl said crisply, her face held high and her eyes fixed on him. She was familiar…now, if he could remember where he had seen her…Fleur Delacour? Hadn't she sent him a gift last Christmas?

Oh, right…

It was a book about fire.

"Gianfranco Varigotti, dell'Universitatis!" an Italian boy exclaimed.

"Francesco Trifolati, del—"

"He's a fourth year and an imbecile," Isabella sighed shaking his head.

"Oh, come on headmistress!" Francesco whined. "It's going to be fun!"

"Did you hear a word the Headmaster of Hogwarts said?" Isabella commented.

"Not very good English I have," Francesco replied.

"You were speaking flawlessly a moment ago," Harry deadpanned. "In any case, anyone else? No? Good," he exhaled. He confirmed the names together with the other headmasters, and then dropped the scraps of paper in the Goblet of Fire. "For this night, curfew is not in effect. The Goblet will spew out the names of the participants at Midnight, so those who wish to remain and watch may…but know that lessons will continue as normal tomorrow, so tomorrow, which is a Tuesday…may god have mercy upon those who have Defence Against the Dark Arts."

He then sat back down at his seat and clapped his hands once. The representative of the Queen —as an elf whispered to him— had left to warn her Highness of what had transpired. Severus had followed soon afterwards —the potion professor had no doubt there would probably be an interrogation, which was why he hadn't thought of wasting much time on the dinner and had instead gone over to get the man's version before he was 'taken care of'.

Harry acknowledged that: if _he_ had sent someone Imperiused, he'd also do something to make sure he wouldn't be able to reveal anything important. If, by mistake, he'd be a risk for a secret operation, he'd have the man killed. Harry clasped on his goblet of pumpkin juice and took a clam gulp as he began to think.

"You will overheat your brain, youngster," Isabella Rossi chided him from his side. "You really don't like this tournament stuff, do you?"

"No," he shook his head. "Only foolish and foolhardy fools would. It's…barbaric."

"The Romans had the Coliseum," Isabella remarked. "You know they asked me to Repair it twice last year? A few drunken wizards always try and duel inside it…no matter how much you tighten the security they always find a way to slip through."

"That's the problem with the wizardry world," Harry muttered. "One actually has to ask why it remained…this stagnant for so long. Shouldn't it have evolved by now? Why stay in this sort of comfortable middle age, when the muggles have gone beyond? Is it something related only to Britain? Is it something spread worldwide?"

"You know, the Italian Wizardry Senate wanted me to refuse the invitation," Isabella snorted. "I went all the same because at my age, they can't do anything to me I haven't already suffered through," she chuckled dryly. "I think I took the best decision in my life…you're so young it's endearing…but you do say some interesting things…let's say that you're right, then the question would be…why?"

Harry closed his eyes and clasped his hands together. The rest of the dining hall was pleasantly eating and exchanging words with one another, as a few of the students from the different schools began to mingle. "It's easier to control the stupid than the smart," he murmured. "But I suppose…stagnancy is the result of peace?"

"Or maybe Peace is the result of stagnancy?" Isabella replied with a light smirk. "If the enemy doesn't increase his armies, then there is no reason for us to do the same. If the enemy doesn't research better things, then why should we?"

"For the betterment of the community," Harry replied.

"But that brings forth a cost, and some people are dead-set in their ways," Isabella remarked. "I still hold a bust of the Duce and a painting of Vittorio Emanuele in my apartment, yet I serve the Republic. Am I being a hypocrite, for holding on to the relics of the great men of the past? I don't approve of the bad things they did…but should we judge them only of what they did wrong? Make no mistake: whoever claims they hated Mussolini from the beginning is but a hypocrite. He saved Italy from bankruptcy, he fought to give us bread, work, and to band together soldiers that came back from the First World War with nothing but their backpacks and sometimes even lacking limbs. _He made mistakes_. All men make mistakes, but some people make far graver ones than others." She took a sip of wine from her goblet, before her eyes glazed over as if remembering something.

"Hitler saved Germany from the first war's _consequences_, from an unjust treaty that brought the nation to its knees…and even though he condemned _millions_ to death even now, there are still people who'd want him back… the same as your British Voldemort…and you know why, Headmaster Wyllt? _Because there cannot exist only pitch-black evil or bright white light in the world_. Even the most horrible of dictators did something _right_ to remain in power." She shook her head slowly, biting her crinkled lips for a moment.

"No matter the bloodshed, the pain, the families that burned or cried tears of agony at the loss of their loved ones, no matter the sacrifices, the horrors of the war…every man that rose to power did something _right_ to get there. Hitler, Mussolini, Fidel Castro, Stalin, Lenin, you name someone and I'll tell you their great deeds…and their nefarious plots. Why do you think people followed Gellert? Or why did they flock behind Dumbledore? They did great things, Wyllt…terrible things or glorious things…but never —ever— condemn them for only a little part of their actions, because they did greater things than you or I will ever make: _they wrote history_ with their words, their actions, their beliefs…to do the same…that is something I never achieved."

She laughed, slightly tipsy. "Your wine is a good year, to get me this drunk. In the end…" she looked at the goblet. "I barely got a footnote in history. I'm the Witch of the Piave. I held the line…I got myself a medal from the King…and then another from the Duce…I saw El Alamein burn and I bitterly shed my tears over the tombs of my sons…But never, to this day, do I regret a single one of my actions. Maybe it was your Hogwarts' song that is making me sappy but…_Dio salvi il re, Vittorio Emanuele! Alla salute!"_

"_Alla salute!_" a few of the Italian students who had heard said back, raising their goblets.

Harry said nothing as he let those words wash over him. The old woman sighed wistfully and brought both of her hands to her lap, looking ahead and waiting for the goblet to finish choosing.

The first years dropped like flies, the excitement slowly leaving the place to tiredness and sleepiness. The Praetorians accompanied them away in the end, leaving only the Knights, the sixth years and the seventh ones with a few exclusions —namely, his sister Lillian and her roommates.

Finally, midnight struck and the goblet of fire burst into purple flames as it released the names of the participants for the tournament.

Harry slowly stood up and walked towards the front of the goblet, flanked by both Madame Maxime —who had remained quiet since headmistress Isabella had ranted— and the Headmistress of the Universitatis herself.

The King of Hogwarts carefully opened up the first paper, and read aloud the name inside.

"For Hogwarts, the Champion is Viktor Krum!" there were roars and claps of hands as the champion in question stood to receive the applauses.

"For Beauxbatons, the Champion is Fleur Delacour!" Madame Maxime spoke next.

Polite claps rose…from the Universitatis and the Hogwarts students as the half-Veela stood to receive them with a forced smile. Not one of her classmates was applauding her after all…

"And for the Universitatis, Gianfranco Varigotti!"

It was as the claps died down that the goblet of fire began to burn brightly once more. Harry stilled and narrowed his eyes as one more piece of paper erupted from within the goblet.

Slowly, it landed on his palm just as the goblet stopped working.

He opened the paper carefully, and then blanched.

His eyes turned to where Lillian was, speaking with Hermione and her roommates.

"The Fourth Champion of the school…"

He exhaled.

"Jean Gregorovitch, of Durmstrang."

Silence settled in the dining hall. Hermione's eyes widened for a moment. "W…Why are you…Why are you all looking at me?" she squeaked.

"Hermione," Lillian muttered next to her. "_You're Jean_."

And Harry internally seethed and clenched tightly the paper that had emerged. He growled and turned his head quickly to the staff. "Everyone except the Champions and their headmasters are to be immediately sent back to their rooms. Miss Potter, Miss Granger, you two will wait in my office. Knight Malfoy! Escort them there immediately," he then spun around to face the headmistresses. "Madame Maxime and Madame Rossi, please take your champions and follow Knight Entwhistle to their quarters. We will talk about this tomorrow," he snapped as he began to walk towards Viktor Krum.

"Mister Krum! You will follow me to your quarters now, if you please…"

"Yes," Viktor nodded stiffly as he rose from his spot to follow him.

"B-But Harry!" Lillian exclaimed suddenly.

"I'll deal with you both in my office later," he hissed trying to keep his voice down as his eyes shone murderously. "_Don't you dare make a scene_."

He looked to Draco who paled and quickly stood up.

"You heard the King! Come on, move it you two."

Harry breathed calmly only once he managed to reach the corridor outside of the Hogwarts' champion quarters. He looked into the stony-face of Viktor Krum —who hadn't said a word— and sighed.

"These will be your quarters for the duration of the Tournament. They have a training room attached and a house elf at your disposal. I have to ask of you if you are really sure about participating in the tournament however…it is a _potentially lethal_ competition."

"Me knows," Viktor nodded stiffly. "Good for my Quidditch career, so I do it."

"You like playing Quidditch, right…ah, yes, you're _that_ Viktor Krum, youngest on the Bulgaria team, right?"

"Yeah, you fan?" he made an awkward smile.

Harry shrugged. "Can't say I am…I'll just tell you the laws as a champion and then I'll let you get your sleep. First thing first, tomorrow morning we will convene with the rest of the champions at nine o'clock in my office: you know where it is?"

Viktor nodded.

"Good, hopefully I will have solved the problem of the Fourth Champion by tomorrow, and if I haven't we'll find a way…in any case, you are free from taking the exams and have leeway to enter the library —except the forbidden section— to look for magical books. I cannot help you with the tasks, nor can I tell you ahead of the others what they will entail. I can tell you however that they are potentially fatal, all of them. So be careful, all right?"

"You worry like mother," Viktor remarked. "You no like papers say."

Harry smiled briefly. "I promised to myself I would change…I would become better than my predecessors. I'm trying."

He bid farewell to the Bulgarian boy and left for his office, ready to tongue-lash to oblivion and beyond Hermione or Lillian —or both, because he had no doubt it had to have been one of them. Had the name come out to be Lillian's he would have understood it couldn't be but Voldemort or Salazar.

As it was…whoever would place 'Jean Gregorovitch' in the goblet but one who knew of her identity at Durmstrang?

_Gellert_?

That was preposterous.

What would Gellert earn from doing that?

He just hoped nothing worse would happen before the end of the night. And how long was Gordsworth going to take? He didn't have all night!

_Gellert Grindelwald_

"And when you remove a Queen from the King's side," he muttered as he moved the chess piece and ate the Queen in question. "All that the King has to defend him are pawns and Knights."

He tapped his fingers on the chessboard. "Well, there are Rooks and Bishops too…but who'd trust their defence to Rooks and Bishops? Would you trust them, Hagrid?"

The half-giant looked perplexed for a moment, before shaking his head.

"I don't play chess mister Gellert, ya have'ta really enjoy it though: yea keep talking bout it!"

"Yes," Gellert rolled his eyes. "I do."

He looked at the newspaper once more.

"_Queen of England assassinated. Criminal still at large!"_

"How easy it is to murder someone…how easy," he exhaled. "What will your move be now, I wonder, my _Kind_?"

Gellert just smiled as he looked at the Chessboard. He hated comparing chess to real life…but he enjoyed the irony of it, and since he was still recouping his forces…he needed all the enjoyment he could have.

**Author's notes**

**Isabella's words are **_**her own**_**. Not mine. **

**I always wondered why Voldemort never *apparated* killed the queen *disapparated*. **

**Probably wards…uh, wonder how Gellert did it then.**

**Oh, 'Kind' means 'Child' in German.**

**The Italian sentences are as follow:**

_Non faremo la strada indietro allo stesso modo, vero? __ "We won't be going back the same way, right?"_

_Zitto che la strega ti sente __ "Quiet, the witch will hear you!"_

_Dio salvi il re, Vittorio Emanuele! Alla salute! — "God save the King, Vittorio Emanuele! A toast to him!"_

**Harry's getting smart and good at finding out plots. Meh, might be paranoia.**


	4. The Deals In The Darkness

Harry Potter and the Wrath of the Elder Gods

Chapter Four

"_Wisdom consists of knowing how to distinguish the nature of trouble, and in choosing the lesser evil."_

_-Niccolò Machiavelli, 'The Prince'._

His office was crowded. The lack of the Queen's representative irked him, but he supposed he had too many people already to talk with. His sister stood clasping her hands against the hem of her robes, while Hermione was looking like a scared cat all around her, eying the portraits with particular fright.

Draco was in a corner, his body stiff. The rest of the Knights were at attention nearby, and they were all pale, their sweat glinting beneath the light of the torches and candles.

"I would like to know," Harry began slowly, "How it was possible."

He carefully began to walk in front of his men. "Someone infiltrated Hogwarts. Someone reached my office, and then that someone acted against the interests of fair play to insert another name into the Goblet —a name the goblet apparently recognized and accepted."

He turned his gaze towards Hermione. "Did you cast your name in the Goblet?"

"N-No!" she exclaimed, "Your Highness, I…"

"Hush," he silenced her with a wave of his hand. "Lillian? What about you?"

"Harry? Come on, this isn't funny," Lillian murmured. "Why would I do that!?"

"You tell me," he remarked. "Unless someone else did it, it had to be one of you." He pointed towards the room, letting his arm metaphorically embrace them all. "The only ways inside are either through brute force, which one used, mind you…or through having the key to my office. So it is _undoubtedly_ _true_ that two people entered this office, but only one managed to put the name inside," his eyes narrowed. "The question is… was Hermione's name placed out of hatred, or out of jealousy?"

Silence descended into his office.

"I could ask you all to reiterate your vows, but if you acted, if you managed to act in such a way, then it means you were actually acting upon my best interests…or believed it as such," he succinctly said. "I will make my displeasure known to the Goblins about how their wards are so easily breached, and let it never be said that I am not magnanimous…" he took a deep breath. "You will resume your normal duties, all of you. These eggs have been broken already, and there is simply no other way around it."

He gazed at Sophie, who stood on her perch fluttering her wings slightly. "One way or another I will find out who did this, and when I do," he stressed out, "He or she will pray to whatever god there exists for mercy…because they will find none within me."

His mantle fluttered as he turned around. "I hoped I had made myself clear. I wished for everyone to learn, to live, to study at Hogwarts in peace. I asked not to abuse the power gifted to us…but cracking down on it again would be counterproductive."

Draco swallowed nervously, his eyes fixed in a corner. "King?"

"We'll keep this as it is, and I hope—"

That was when the fire of his office burned brightly, and a sooth covered man passed through the next moment. Gordsworth came out tumbling and coughing, before yelling out visibly in shock.

"They killed the Queen!"

Then, promptly, he fainted.

"Out," Harry muttered. "All of you, out."

"Harry?" Lillian's tone filled with fright.

"_Out. All of you, out._"

Those words came out with an air of finality that menaced murder, to those who disobeyed. In less than a minute, only the fainted body of Gordsworth and Sophie remained. His wand went to the tip of Gordsworth's skull, before he hissed out. "_Enervate_."

The man woke up with wide eyes. "They killed the Queen!"

"Stand up —laying on the floor isn't the way to go, Mister Gordsworth," Harry replied coolly as he gripped the man's hand and pulled him up. "Now, repeat and be concise."

"I was headed to give my report to the Queen!" he hissed, "but by the time I got to the door, just as I was being announced, her Majesty's room exploded! There was nothing left but ashes and…and they found the crown's remains in the rubble. _It was melted on the Queen's head_."

"That is an interesting way to kill someone," Harry replied calmly.

"They killed the Queen!" the man bellowed. "How can you be so calm!? Her majesty is dead!"

"Death is inevitable, Mister Gordsworth," Harry remarked. "If it is of any consolation, this isn't Voldemort's doing in the least. He never actually cared for the muggles to begin with during his reign. No, this is someone else…what of the Crown Prince?"

"Prince Charles will take the throne," Gordsworth remarked, "And Lady Diana will become Queen," the man added.

"Has he been informed of the delicate situation in magical Britain?"

"Not yet," Gordsworth replied. "He has yet to receive the news of his mother's death."

"I will be declaring the state of war, you understand," Harry replied. "This attack isn't the first nor will it be the last, and if a solution isn't found, I will have to plead to the International Confederacy of Wizards. There are laws in effect against using magic for war purposes on muggles. It is the only way to stop more attacks from happening…at least until the culprit is found."

"You have to pass by the monarch's…"

"Not if it's in answer of a hostile action or a terrorist manoeuvre," Harry replied succinctly. "You should go back to the palace and be ready to inform His Grace immediately," he added with a small smile. "I'll take care of things with the 'Ministry'."

"Very well, Duke Potter," Gordsworth bowed once. "I'll be in touch with you later."

That said, the Queen's ambassador took another pinch of Floo powder and threw it in the fire, "I'll never get used to this…Buckingham Palace!"

The man disappeared in a shower of green flames, and the moment he was gone Harry stood up and took his own pinch of Floo powder. He hesitated for just a moment, before finally steeling his resolve.

Throwing it in the fire, he enunciated clearly.

"Ministry of Magic, Cornelius Fudge Office," and then he stepped through.

He found his face inches away from a wand —an extremely familiar wand— belonging to none other than Cornelius Fudge.

"Duke Wyllt," the man hissed, "What brings you here?"

"Respect protocol, Prime Minister," Harry replied coldly, "I'm here to ask you a question. I came in person, so please put away your wand. If you try and use an Imperius rest assured there are people who will know of this," there was a flash of light as Sophie appeared on his right shoulder, trilling.

Fudge pocketed his wand.

"You should have taken an appointment. A _foreign_ ambassador coming uninvited in the Prime Minister of the Magical Ministry office does sound like quite sensational news for the press."

"Let us ignore Skeeter or whoever else you have at your disposal to write propaganda; I'm sure you had your schedule freed since hearing the news, unless the Prime Minister of Muggle London forgot to tell you?"

He eyed the chair and when Cornelius nodded, he sat down on it.

"Very well then Duke Wyllt, let us dispense with all of this and get to the point, shall we?"

Fudge sat down in front of him, his hands clasped together and his face completely devoid of emotions.

"Do you have anything to do with the attack on Buckingham Palace?" Harry asked quietly, eying everywhere but Cornelius' eyes.

"What if I have and what if I have not? Really, why would anyone actually admit to such a blatant breaking of the ICW's orders? Only an idiot would…and no, I did not have anything to do with it, albeit of course you won't believe merely my word, will you?"

"If you admitted you had, you would have made life easier on my shoulders," Harry replied. "Rest assured though; I doubt that your supporters would actually like you being responsible for the death of Queen, and for handing to me the Casus Belli needed to strike you out of power if proven true."

"_Casus Belli_? My, you know such interesting words, Duke Wyllt. Made your research?"

"I know far more," Harry smiled, closing his eyes for a moment as his face betrayed his smugness. "_Isn't that right, Salazar?"_

As he hissed in Parseltongue, Cornelius stiffened and then narrowed his eyes.

"What are you trying to pull, Duke Wyllt?"

"_I know it wasn't you, Salazar. Your plans always take time. This action was rash, fast, not the product of your mind. It was something made to make the wizards feared. This stinks of Voldemort."_

"I am growing tired of hearing you hiss nonsense, Duke Wyllt," Cornelius replied.

"Why? I'm offering you a very good deal," Harry said. "You want magical Britain to be separated from the muggles. You wanted wizards and witches to stay away from muggles' affairs…And I want the exact opposite. Voldemort wishes for blood purity, which is too excessive for your tastes, and Gellert wants Wizards to rule over muggles, which is too excessive for my own tastes. We are the middle ground," Harry acquiesced.

"So what you propose is an alliance, Harry Potter?" Salazar asked.

"Let's face it, Cornelius…I'm the underdog here. You'd probably be able alone to slice through Hogwarts' defences like they were made of butter. Gellert, Voldemort…they're both stronger than me."

"You defeated Albus Dumbledore," Salazar replied smoothly, "That is not an easy feat."

"He was old, his mind was weak and I had help from your own sword," Harry stated back plainly, "As well as a few prophecies backing me up."

"That is indeed the case," the prime minister of magical Britain nodded, "You haven't come here to boast about that, have you? Moreover, I, Cornelius Fudge, do not have a sword. How can you even begin to think I am Salazar Slytherin…did you not defeat him once already?"

"Well, if you won't give away your game then never will I," Harry replied. "But I think we can both find a deal in the middle. You strike me as more of a pacifist than a warmonger. You act with finesse, not with blood."

Salazar exhaled slowly, before giving him a second glance. The way the boy averted his eyes told him there was little else to do. Of course, he could just point his wand at him and solve the issue, but the phoenix would take its time in burning his office or leaving another mark on the boy's shoulder. Memory charms weren't his forte to begin with.

"The Ministry's economy is in tatters," he acquiesced. "Many of the businesses are on your lands, and soon there won't be enough money to pay the officers or the Aurors."

"I understand that," Harry retorted. "I was never against wizards remaining upon my lands to work as long as they followed the laws of the Queen."

"This is hardly something the Blood Purists will like because by doing this, you're forcing wizards beneath muggle laws. Many will rather become unemployed then swallow their pride, Duke Wyllt."

Humming thoughtfully, Salazar took out a manila envelope. "And with the way your laws work, the moment the Goblin Nation receives permission to make their first wands it will be an outright scandal."

"What is fair is fair," Harry remarked. "Those are key points that I will not change."

"Lease the lands with wizard businesses back to the ministry for a few decades," Salazar replied. "You'll keep them, but the laws applied will be those of the Ministry of Magic."

Harry opened the manila folder and began to read the papers within, going through quite a few stacks. "These are mostly dockyards and airport businesses. I'm not as blind as to not see there's a connection."

"Indeed, I will favour to make Magical Great Britain as isolationist as possible," Salazar acquiesced. "You, on the other hand, will do what you do best. We'll split Britain in two, Harry Potter. You can rule the side where muggles work together with wizards, and I'll rule the one where wizards do not wish to meddle with muggles. It will be a Magical Britain of the East and of the West."

"Are you going to put up a wall like in Berlin?"

"That won't be necessary…So, Duke Wyllt, do we have a deal?"

"On one condition, Cornelius," Harry replied. "Send a public dispatch of Aurors for the duration of the tournament as a sign of good will. Pick them well, because if any accident happens then I will know how far to trust your word," he stood up then, and turned to head towards the fire pit.

"_And Salazar…I'd watch out for Gellert if I were you."_

"_Duke Wyllt,"_ Salazar hissed back then, his eyes shining for but a second, _"Guiding a nation is like holding a scorching cup of tea filled to the brim, and having to walk upon rocky staircases. You should be careful of holding it with a glove and a gentle hand."_

"Hogwarts!" with a strong voice, Harry Potter disappeared in the green flames, leaving behind a thoughtful Salazar, without giving a reply to his words.

"How did he know my name?" he whispered quietly. "How?"

_Severus Snape_

"You don't mind if I keep an eye out, right?" Mad-Eye Moody stated plainly, watching as he set up the Veritaserum bottle on a conjured crate nearby.

"Watch to your eye's content," he replied calmly, his dark gaze lingering on the sharply moving eye of the Auror turned teacher. "I heard you have begun explaining the Unforgivable curses."

"Yes, one thing for sure," Mad-Eye commented, "Is that I'll make sure the kids have a fighting chance against your ilk when you'll strike."

"I do not belong to 'that' ilk, Mad-Eye. I stopped a long time ago."

"Once a turncoat always a turncoat," Mad-Eye Moody snarled with venom. "How many of ours did you sell out to keep your hide? Too many to count, I'm sure!"

"Blame Dumbledore, Alastor," Severus commented as he heard the doors of the prison open. Harry walked in, his green eyes so similar to those of his mother it forced him to avert his gaze. When they were so cold and distant, filled with an icy malice, they were truly a remarkable sight.

"The prisoner?" Harry's voice came dryly as the boy stilled in front of the cell. "Do we have a name for him yet?"

"Uhm," Alastor grumbled, twirling his eye near the unconscious man, before centring on his face. "He looks familiar, but nothing more."

"Legilimency on him is useless," Severus remarked coldly. "His brain is jumbled completely —the after effects of Azkaban without a doubt."

"You will not find the master," the man behind the bars spoke, his eyes wide open and hidden behind matted and dirty hair. "You will not find my mother," he added.

"How did he wake up?" Harry asked, "Wasn't he supposed to be knocked unconscious?"

"What do I look like, a Healer?" Alastor gruffly snorted. "Why don't you try and make him talk with a Crucio, boy? They're legal in here."

"Nothing will make me speak!" the man screamed, clawing his gaunt cheeks with his hands. "I know nothing but what mother wants me to know! She'll tell you nothing but what you need to suffer from, traitors! The lot of you are traitors to mother!"

"Amusing as this is," Severus curtly brought his wand forth, "Let us dispense with the pleasantries." Thick steel chains burst out of the tip of his wand, spinning as they entangled the man into a tight bundle of iron. The door of the cell swung open next, and the potions' professor cloak billowed as he kneeled next to the ensnared prisoner. The Veritaserum found its way down the throat of the madman and the next instant the man's eyes glazed over.

"What is your name?" Severus asked.

"Barty Crouch," the man croaked out.

"He looks nothing like…wait a moment," Alastor grumbled. "Are you Barty Crouch Junior? Barty Crouch's son?"

"Yes," the man drawled with his voice faint.

"How did you survive? You were supposed to be dead," Alastor snapped. "Your own father ordered your life-imprisonment to Azkaban, and I know you died there!"

"My mother took my place," Barty replied with his faint voice, "She was sick. She died drinking polyjuice to resemble me. The Dementors were too blind to notice the difference."

Harry hummed then. "Who freed you?"

"Mother freed me," Barty replied. "She came to me, and she freed me."

"You said she died," Harry pointed out.

"She still came to save me."

"Veritaserum will make him tell the truth," Severus said crisply, "But at the same time…if his mind has been modified or if he has been obliviated…"

"Truth always changes with perspective," Harry nodded. "Alastor? Is Barty Senior available for an interview?"

"After the scandal of having his own son revealed as a Death Eater, he dropped politics and retired," Alastor remarked. "Last I heard of him, he was living his days of retirement at his home."

"Seems he had a pretty big skeleton in his closet," Harry muttered. "This reeks of a ploy," he lifted his wand, pointing it at the man in question. "What were you instructed to tell me, then?" he asked, narrowing his eyes on the man. There was no doubt this was a message —this was a message to him, but for what purpose?

"Mother said you have been a bad child," the man said. "She said she is coming for you, her wayward child," he giggled then. "You were bad, and bad children need to be punished."

"Bad?" he mouthed back. "Who are you possibly talking…of…"

His eyes widened, and then narrowed once more as a strangled growl escaped his lips.

"_Bellatrix_."

Barty just laughed. He laughed even as his body soared in the air and crashed against the opposite wall of the cell, as Harry's knuckles turned white from the effort of holding his wand.

"Where is she!?" he roared to the man.

"Harry! Calm down!" Severus exclaimed.

"WHERE. IS. SHE!?" he screamed as he pulled the tied man forward, his face pressing against the prison's bars. His maniacal laughter and his glazed over eyes met his own furious ones, and there, in that moment, did he speak.

"She said she's close, so close," Barty chuckled with mirth. "Mother's just close to you…so much, she could touch you if she wanted to."

"Harry, he is only trying to get a rise on you. Whoever modified his memory is making him tell you this to anger you," Severus said, slowly bringing his right hand down on the boy's shoulder. "He is lying while saying the truth."

"Then he's useless," Harry snarled. "Deliver him to the ministry. He is theirs to deal with."

Turning rapidly, Harry walked away with his boot stomping down hard on the floor, the sound of his hurried footsteps echoing throughout the hallways of the prisons until he was out. Severus remained, eying the prisoner and then Alastor.

"Did you insert a name in the goblet of fire?" Alastor's question came up next, the very same Severus would have asked soon enough. The drugged wizard just looked at Alastor for a moment, before chuckling.

"Yes," he smiled beatifically.

"Whose?" Severus pressed on.

"Jeanne Gregorovitch of Durmstrang," he replied with a light giggle.

"How?"

"Mother gave me her name on a piece of paper," he chuckled. "She said a friend of the family gave it to her."

"Do you have a name?" he couldn't trust the words of an obliviated wizard, but he could work with whoever the man decided to frame.

"Gellert Grindelwald," Barty Crouch giggled out, "Gellert Grindelwald."

"He's dead," Severus snapped back. "Albus killed him."

"Oh…" Barty blinked. "Is that the truth?"

Alastor growled then. "You insufferable! Whoever worked on him did a good job; it would take months of Saint Mungos to get him even 'slightly' sane. We're better off leaving him here to rot."

"No, you heard the King," Severus said. "We'll be handing him over to the ministry," silkily, Severus' voice lowered a few notes. "Something you should be glad of, Alastor. We are extending a helping hand to the ministry…who cannot even keep his own citizens secure enough."

Alastor grumbled curses beneath his breath as he left, stomping his way out of the prison.

Severus gave one last look at the man, and then twisted his wand's tip for an instant to the right. The chains came less as the cell's door closed behind him. Walking outside briskly, Severus closed the wooden door to the prisons' cells and exhaled.

"Professor Snape," a familiar voice called to him, forcing him to turn to the side. The ashen face of Draco Malfoy was there, gazing at him. "Something bad is happening."

In his hands, the crumpled newspaper of the morning edition —had he not gone to sleep that night— was visible. He neared the boy and looked at the paper, which soon Draco offered to him.

In the first page, standing in bold black letters, were the following words.

_**The World is in Chaos!**_

Below, written in crisp and clear handwriting, was what had probably shocked Draco to his core.

"_The Greek parliament in an effort to stabilize its economy has announced laws concerning blood purity. The parliament gives the fault of its economic recession to the Muggle-born wizards who refuse the wizardry traditions, and bring forth cheaper products that destabilize the market. In order to combat it, Muggle-born and half-blood wizards can no longer buy or sell products from muggle sources. Private enterprises led by muggle-born are to be closed or passed in the hands of Pure Wizards, and…"_

"_The newly enthroned King of Magical Britain has declared the Martial Laws in effect following the death of the muggle Queen. The Ministry of Magical Britain is still deliberating on the correct procedure to undertake. In this state of chaos, it is possible that a new civil war will erupt in Britain?"_

"_The Italian 'Legate' movement has reached the majority, following its new proposals to increase the work available for all wizards by breaking the International Statute of Secrecy concerning applying for muggle jobs. While these laws would not go directly against the Statute of Secrecy, it is by no doubt a move that risks discovery of the wizardry world by muggles."_

"_Berlin is in a state of civil war, following the terrifying prospect of Gellert Grindelwald, the Dark Lord of Europe, of having returned from the grave. Thousands of believers in his theory of Wizards above Muggles have flocked to his side, and the German chancellor's current location is unknown."_

"_These dire news come in a state of political change as the wizardry world begins to question whether to still keep separated from the muggle world. Will this become another era of darkness, with another Dark Lord rising to take the helm? Will another Girl-Who-Lived rise to save the world from the future Dark Lord? Currently, Hogwarts is hosting the Triwizard Tournament in an effort to foster peaceful relationships with its fellow schools. The brother of the girl who lived, Harry James Potter, was unavailable for an interview."_

Severus raised an eyebrow. "What is the…"

"Here!" Draco hurriedly pointed to a small article in the front page —one that he too would have missed otherwise.

"_The magical ministry of Great Britain has agreed to send a team of aurors for the duration of the Triwizard tournament."_

"That is hardly troubling, Draco."

"Professor, you don't understand," the boy grabbed at his hair. "It's not good if they come! Not good at all!"

"Why?"

Draco choked, before shaking his head. "I can't…"

"I understand, Draco," Severus nodded firmly. "Do not worry, I'll take care of it," he added.

He then turned and left. He was going to spend many more nights sleepless, if these sort of things kept happening.

_Lillian Potter_

Whenever things went bad, people turned to her.

"You're the girl-who-lived, do something!" was their favourite sentence. She didn't dislike being the centre of attention. She disliked having to deal with things that normally the professors dealt with. Things like squads wanting to play Quidditch all the same, students asking how cursed objects were in regards to the laws in place. People just asked her, and she answered with the brightest and most strained smile she could make.

Draco had been longer in the business than she had, yet people flocked nearby whenever they saw her. They wanted her opinion, her words. Only, she wasn't sure any longer what her opinion was.

The way people talked of her, the way she talked with people, they all seemed to interact with one another forming a chain she couldn't break. She smiled to one and three more would come the next day because she smiled. Was this what Harry had to go through daily? This mass of people coming to his side, asking him answers that he too could not know?

How could he know who was right or wrong when there were no eyewitnesses?

Did he simply pick a choice?

"Why is Hermione called Jean? Why is she participating?"

"Somebody is trying to harm her."

"Why? Isn't the castle supposed to be safe?"

"The castle is safe. The culprit was caught too late however."

"Why? Why couldn't the King catch him sooner?"

"My brother was busy elsewhere at the time."

"I would like to meet with the King," a blond haired girl from Beauxbatons said, "If that is acceptable with you, Lillian."

Lillian blinked, before exhaling. "Fleur?"

"Oui," the girl smiled. "Are they running you ragged?"

"That's one way to put it," her hands went through her red hair, a tired sigh leaving her throat. "Sometimes I wonder if Harry just pushed me in front of the crowd to have a moment to himself," she shook her head. "He's actually really busy. Succeeding a hundred years of bad management is extremely time-consuming. He worked the entire summer to no end," her wand flicked to clean a smudge of dirt from a corner of the hall. "And the house elves are starting to get sloppy, running ragged as they are too."

"Well, about my request?"

"I'm sorry Fleur, but nobody sees a wink of Harry most of the time. I'm sure if you knock at his door he might just let you in…as much as he'd just send a curse your way."

"Wasn't there supposed to be a Champion meeting?" the girl asked then, "It has been postponed for what reason?"

Lillian exhaled deeply, her eyes closing as she brought one hand to her forehead.

"I can't say now. You'll have to wait until Harry makes the announcement. Really, we're in the dark as much as you all are and what little I know isn't going to help."

"Still! Does he really have nothing but work to do?" Fleur insisted, and Lillian shot her a bloody dark look.

"Listen, Fleur," she said, "I don't know what Harry thinks half of the time, and the other half I'm too busy answering questions to actually care. Tackle him when you next see him. Maybe _that_ will get his attention."

"I will do that then," Fleur nodded. "Good luck with your tasks."

"Good luck to you with yours," Lillian replied, before shaking her head and walking off.

_Coryphaeus_

Godric's Hollow was quiet in the night. The crickets did not creak, nor did the owls hoot. The houses were silent. The blood rushed to his cheeks as the cold air breezed past him. He would rather be back in Greece, or on warmer shores. His breathing came out in thick clouds of vapour, as his boots cracked against the icy ground near the cemetery.

It had snowed recently.

The words written on the statues of the fallen during the war against his Emperor, Voldemort, were upon the base of the marble men and women.

"_Death shall be met as a brother at the end of the journey of life."_

He licked his lips, as the statue —a woman holding a child— slowly bowed down near him.

"Among the lies, grant me the truth hidden by the wicked prophecies."

Coryphaeus watched then as the statue seemingly came to life, taking a few steps backwards as its base slid to reveal a long stone ladder that descended deep within the bowels of the earth.

Holding his wand in his right hand, he descended the ladder slowly.

The small circular room he ended up in filled with the stench of rot. His nose scrunched up in disgust, as his eyes travelled in search of anything that could be what his lord had asked him to take. There was nothing. The room appeared completely empty.

Whatever was supposed to be in there…was in there no longer.

He climbed the stairs back outside, enjoying for once the cold breeze —better than the stale air most certainly. Coryphaeus never questioned his orders, but as he looked around the cemetery, he couldn't help but wonder why he had been sent in such a desolate place.

There was nothing, nothing for miles except a desolate shack and a few buildings. It was one of those cold nights where snow is expected, and yet it never comes down.

A lonely figure came up towards the cemetery. An old man, clad in a dark leather jacket and holding a fedora over his head, walked the road in silence. A wand soon appeared in his hand —so it was a wizard then.

"My, what a surprise," the old man chuckled. "Who'd think I'd see another visitor," there was a gentle chuckle. "I wonder what brings you here."

"I was just passing by," Coryphaeus replied.

"Really?" the old man stated. "Do you not know? Dead men should be laid to rest," he chuckled, "Dead girls too."

"What are you talking about?" Coryphaeus snapped.

"Something too old to be understood," the man shrugged. "It all began a long and windy night of decades ago after all…" his old eyes settled on him, "But this isn't a story for the likes of you."

Coryphaeus raised his wand and shot forth a bludgeoning spell within a split second.

The man twirled his own wand, and the spell disappeared in a flicker of light.

"Magic lies in the blood," the man spoke, "Was an old proverb —as old as the Roman Empire itself," his cold, icy eyes settled on Coryphaeus. "Have you ever seen the universe? Those thousands of twinkling stars that surround Earth, so far away? Do you know what it means, to be but a speck of dust in an infinite potential? Let me ask you, boy…what hope does an ant have, when Gods wage war around her?"

"Who are you?"

"Ah," the man smiled. "In the old times…the really old times," his teeth showed, pointed and filled with fangs. "I was called Hades."

"What…what was supposed to be…in the…"

"In the tomb?" Hades remarked, his eyes twinkling. "Well, something, I suppose," he shrugged. "Something powerful no doubt," he added. "Like, maybe, a vampire." The fanged smile returned. "A vampire who was meant to remain there, staked to the ground forever undying…" humming to himself, the vampire took a step forward.

"But come, young boy," the vampire remarked. "Let me show you…how deep the lair of the God of the Underworld truly is."

The shadows grew thicker around them. "I had all eternity," the vampire stated, "to thirst…now, my throat feels just a tiny bit parched."

"I am Coryphaeus, and Emperor Voldemort will…"

"Oh, but my darling child," Hades shook his head. "Do you not understand? I serve Lord Voldemort too," the vampire smiled. "The problem is…_I serve the real one_."

Then, only shadows mixed with raucous laughter surrounded Coryphaeus.

**Author's notes**

**Better late than never…some would say.**


End file.
